


The Tournament of Marriage

by Linnet



Series: Prince Yuri of Rusiki [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Archery, Arranged Marriage, Castles, Duelling, F/M, Falconry, Fantasy, Genderswap, JJ is misunderstood, Jousting, Kingdoms, Knights - Freeform, LLF Comment Project, M/M, Magic, Medieval, Mentions of Death, Minor Character Death, Multi, Otabek is a badass, Slightly crack, Slow Burn, Tournaments, Yurio is a badass, Yuuri is low-key a samurai, aged-up, but gets serious, honestly at least half of this is people trying to kill each other, lots of fighting, no such thing as subtlety, royal family, with swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-11 16:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnet/pseuds/Linnet
Summary: That’s the thing about arranged marriages – they push everything too fast, too intense. Even people that might otherwise just be friends, Yuri can’t help but think... what if? What if I spend the rest of my life with this person? What if I never see them again? There’s no in-between, usually. This is the first time Otabek’s been back to Rusiki in over a decade.“Because I don’t want to marry you?”“Because you considered me an equal.” Yuri corrects, letting Ariya go again. She dives off the side of the battlements, and for a moment he’s with her as she falls, but then she pulls out again and he’s back on the castle walls. Heart thrumming, head spinning.“Hang on,” he realises. “You came all the way here with the express intention of fighting me, which means getting to the final stage. That means...”“If I win, we marry. If I lose, I become your bodyguard.”Yuri’s actually relieved to see that Otabek understands the rules here, because he seems supremely unfazed by the ultimatum.“Either way, you’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives.”“Yes.”“That doesn’t bother you?”-Everyone else wants to marry Yuri. Otabek just wants to fight him.





	1. The Prince is Pissed Off

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about three days, instead of doing any of my actual work. It was amazing, and now I'm broken, 
> 
> I'll be posting it as I edit it, but I'm half-blind to errors in my own work, so please feel free to point out any stupid mistakes! 
> 
> Yes, I literally changed the entire geography of the planet to fit my fantasy au. Fight me.

“I hate you all.”  
  
He really needs to find a way to convince Victor how much he actually means that. The idiot just grins at him from above, eyes glittering. Yuri slumps further down in his throne with a ‘hmph’ of frustration. The prince is taller than Yuri anyway, it’s not like he needed his throne elevated. Asshole. Could he be more obnoxious? As if the purple robes and gold gilt weren’t enough. He was such a bloody elitist.  
  
“I hope your stupid pedestal collapses and drops you in the middle of the fight.”  
  
Victor laughs and claps his hands together, delighted.  
  
“Oh, that sounds like fun! It seems unfair for me to compete for your hand when I’m already engaged, however. Especially when I’d easily beat everyone else into the ground.” Yuri rolls his eyes and wonders idly whether anyone would notice if he used some of the royal drapes to strangle his half-brother.  
  
Instead, he turns to watch the fuss. In the arena in front of them, the squires are lining up with their banners. Yuri has inspected the list of challengers multiple times already, and doesn’t bother to look at what’s going on. The opening ceremonies always take forever, and it’s just crowd-pleasing. At least the music and dancing is already over.  
  
“Neither you nor Katsudon have raised a sword since your own tournament.” He points out. “I’d beat you just as easily as I beat him.”  
  
“So, with incredible difficulty then?” The voice behind him makes him jump, soft and amused though the statement was. Yuri turns to glare at him. Katsuki... glitters back. Having him in full armour is more for show than protection (Victor is more than capable of looking after himself, after all), but he ruins the menacing look by grinning so widely through his visor anyway. Still, he stands out. His armour is so different from theirs.  
  
“Shut it, pig, I beat you fair and square and you know it.”  
  
Katsuki shrugs, his armour shifting and clunking. He removes his helm and shakes his hair out. Yuri glares, trying not to wonder too openly how on earth the knight managed to sneak up on them in all of that getup.  
  
“I am hardly ashamed of the result. We both fought well, and I still get to marry Victor.” He takes his place on the other side of Victor. It’s a shame it’s just the three of them this morning. If Yuri wants to strangle him, he’ll have to throw himself across Victor to get there.  
  
“Yuuuuuri.” Nevermind, Victor’s doing the heart-shaped mouth thing again. Yuri’s going to kill them both. Crushing Victor whilst strangling his fiancé is as good a way to do it as any.  
  
“Shut it, pig. And keep your filthy marriage out of my face.”  
  
Victor gives him a thoughtful look.  
  
“Are you worried about the outcome of this tournament, Yuri?”  
  
That doesn’t even deserve a response. He gives up on both of them. He pulls his hood down over his ears and shoves his tiny little crown on top, blocking them out as much as possible. They’re even talking quietly, as if they know he’s trying not to think about it. Even so, it’s impossible to completely ignore them as they seize up his chances.  
  
“It’s an impressive turnout, especially considering his reputation.”  
  
“Actually, I think that made him more interesting. It’s not often we hold a tournament where you actually have to beat the man whose hand you’re competing for.”  
  
“Trust Yurio to be the one to break the rules.”  
  
“I think it’s a good idea. It never hurts to make an effort to move with the times. Especially as Yurio could never respect somebody who wasn’t his equal, and a marriage is nothing without respect.”  
  
They’re both dense. Of course, when he’d agreed to this whole thing, the only person he’d ever been beaten by was Victor himself, and that was hardly going to be an issue. It was a cross-kingdom tournament. The whole thing was meant to establish trade links and allies, and if that meant sacrificing a few sons to arranged marriages, then so be it.  
  
“I would say that a marriage is nothing without love.”  
  
Katsuki, ever the romantic, is infuriating. Yuri would snap at him if he wasn’t so busy trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.  
  
“You know that that doesn’t usually get a look in when you’re royalty.” It’s a nasty reminder. Yuri would be disgruntled enough about agreeing with his half-brother anyway, but then Victor goes and sticks a nail in the coffin by continuing, “We were just lucky.”  
  
“Incredibly lucky.”  
  
The crowd suddenly roars. Dammit, they must be kissing again.  
  
Yuri hated being a prince, sometimes.  
  
He would have much rather been a knight. He’d been brought up as one; weaned on combat training, learnt to ride before he could talk. Archery and falconry came more easily to him than scholarship or socialising had ever done. He’d proved his skill time and time again, and yet Yakov would not relent. Yuri was a prince, not a knight. He would protect his kingdom as a defender and a politician, not fighting on the front lines, like Victor, or doing anything really useful, like Georgi with his magic. Stuck in the middle, with all the politics, and none of the fun.  
If only he was still as confident about the outcome of this as he had been at the start of the year.  
  
Yuri was not accustomed to losing to anyone, let alone someone whose incompetence had been infamous after he almost died at a championship the year before. Losing to Katsuki, even in training, and then having to watch him go on to win Victor’s hand (and heart, the bastard) in the tournament, was humiliating.  
  
Yes, he’d beaten Katsuki since, and in public, but it had hardly been a crowing moment. He’d cried afterward, for heaven’s sake.  
  
It was behind him now, long enough ago that most people remembered little about the fight but that he was the victor, but it still stung.  
  
He was supposed to be proving himself here; proving that he needed to be married about as much as he needed a wet hen in a dairy. But the weight of the loss was heavy on his confidence.  
The unusual terms of this tournament had drawn bigger prospects than he’d been expecting, too. People apparently liked a challenge. Yakov had been delighted, the bastard.  
  
Well, Yuri would just have to beat them.  
  
A fanfare sounds, and Yuri reluctantly drags his face out of his armpit to set one eye on the field. This is supposed to be in his honour, after all. He wants to see what they’re going to do for him.  
  
“Oh, I didn’t realise JJ was King now?” Yuri sighs to himself. Katsuki is just fine with a sword, but he’s even less competent than Yuri when it comes to society, and that’s saying something. He probably doesn’t know who half of these challengers even are.  
  
“His father abdicated.” Victor is probably eyeing up his potential sibling-in-laws. He’s been subtly doing so for weeks anyway, if his careful probing of Yuri is anything to go by.  
  
“Is that a good idea?” Katsuki sounds wary. Yuri is inclined to agree with him. JJ wouldn’t know diplomatic tact if it hit him in the face.  
  
“Well he obviously doesn’t have too many duties to attend to yet, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. I think it may have been an in-name-only arrangement.”  
  
JJ is doing dressage, for heaven’s sake. He’s gone to all the bother of breeding a damn war horse, and he’s wasting all that good blood by making it prance up and down the arena. He’ll tire it out before they even get to the joust, the idiot.  
  
Yuri hisses under his breath, and finally joins the conversation.  
  
“You don’t think he’d actually have duties that he thought more important than an allegiance with the Rusiki Kingdom?”  
  
Victor hums, thoughtfully.  
  
“They already have a fairly strong influence here.”  
  
They’re silent for a moment, watching as JJ takes his place and the next challenger finally enters the arena.  
  
“Yurio, wasn’t it JJ who you told could eat your dirt after you threw a training dummy at him?” Katsuki suddenly remembers. Yuri really, really hates him in that moment. Victor bursts out laughing.  
  
“Ah, so he’s not here to marry you after all. He just wants to beat you.” He surmises, though his giggles.  
  
“The two go hand in hand.” Katsuki reminds them both. Yuri finally turns to them with a sneer. They’re holding hands, again. Disgusting.  
  
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. He’s never going to beat me, and if he did, I’d break his spirit before we even made it to the altar.”  
  
Victor whistles, loud and low.  
  
“Fighting talk, Yurio! You don’t have to fight anyone for two more days, you know.”  
  
Katsuki taps his arm, tactfully.  
  
“We should probably pay attention. We just missed the whole of Chris’ presentation.”  
  
The blonde knight doesn’t seem to mind, waving cheerfully directly at the box where the little family sit. Victor waves back.  
  
“Favouritism.” Yuri snaps.  
  
Victor nods.  
  
“Oh, definitely. Having Chris closer to Rusiki would be lovely. You’d be terribly suited though, and I’d rather you didn’t make his life miserable.”  
  
Yuri doesn’t bother to deny it.  
  
They just watch for a while. The rest of the ceremony goes a lot faster now that JJ’s done showing off. The rest of them just enter, salute to the royal box, and take their places by their squires and flags.  
  
“Do you know any of the others already, Yurio?”  
  
He knows all the kingdoms, obviously, but Yakov had not allowed him to look into much beyond their names in case he judged them before even meeting them.  
  
“Let them speak for themselves, Yuratchka,” his grandpa had agreed.  
  
Yuri doesn’t bother to respond to Katsuki. He looks like he’s going to push, but then the fanfare announces that it’s time for the pledge.  
  
“Oh come on, who let JJ go first?” Yuri sighs, slumping again. Victor shushes him, though he seems amused. Good to know he’s not the only one who thinks JJ shouldn’t be here. The ‘King’ of Candis approaches the royal box, wielding his flag like a weapon. Yuri wonders if he’d conveniently impale himself with it if his horse fell over.  
  
Yuri glares at him, projecting as much hatred as he can across the fence. JJ is oblivious.  
  
He launches into a long, rambling speech about how he’d make a perfect husband. Yuri’s already bored. Every third sentence starts with ‘I’.  
  
About two minutes in, Yuri glances at Victor. He looks bored too, thank god. Yuri gazes out over the stands. It’s too cloudy to see the mountains today, but it’s nice to know that they’re there. He yawns, then comes back to himself as it causes a little ripple of laughter in the audience. Refusing to be embarrassed, he checks to see if JJ has noticed his apathy.  
  
He hasn’t. He’s still talking, his arm thrown out, the other placed on his chest in the most insincere gesture of sincerity Yuri has ever seen. He’s not holding on to his horse. An idea steals quietly into the corner of Yuri’s brain.  
  
Yuri spares another glance at Victor. He’s not paying attention. He’ll know immediately, of course, as will Yakov (but he won’t hear about it until afterwards). It will definitely shut JJ up though, and it’ll give them all a good laugh.  
  
This is ridiculously tense, and he can’t be bothered to deal with stress dignitaries for the rest of the day. It’s boring.  
  
He closes his eyes, yawns again, just a little, and opens his eyes just in time to see JJ’s horse make a sharp step sideways, smartly depositing his rider on the floor in a heap of armour that was, until it landed in the dust, pristinely polished.  
  
It is, as he predicted, completely hilarious.  
  
The laughter around the arena is loud enough to hide Victor’s sharp retribute from everyone outside the box.  
  
“Yuri. Behave. If anyone gets an inkling that there has been meddling, then there will be international consequences.”  
  
“If international consequences means I don’t have to marry that asshole and commit an elaborate murder-suicide before my twenty-first birthday, I’ll take it.” Yuri growls. Victor casts a quick, worried glance at Katsuki.  
  
At least JJ has finished talking. He really doesn’t seem that perturbed by the fall, more that he wasn’t allowed to finish. Chris, thank god, has already taken his place, and JJ is foiled.  
  
Chris is much more refreshing – his speech is short, sweet and dirty. They do know each other fairly well, after all. Chris is here more because it’s expected of his kingdom than because he actually wants to marry Yuri, but he’s also a man of honour. He will do his best, and if he wins, will gladly accept the outcome. He’s already making an effort – that armour looks new, if Yuri’s not mistaken, and the dye on his flag and cloths are bright, expensive. Probably imported especially for the occasion. Victor and Yuri both appreciate the gesture of respect, undermined as it is by Chris’ terribly inappropriate sense of humour.  
  
Yuri rolls his eyes as he waves his hand to dismiss him back to the line, grinning.  
  
“Dirty old man.”  
  
Victor laughs a little beside him, content.  
  
The next challenger is a woman called... Sara? Sala? He didn’t quite catch it, but she’s from Italita. He only remembers that because her appearing at the tournament apparently caused some scandal with her twin brother. Yuri admires her for her tenacity – she may be even unluckier than him, second born by only minutes, but she’s fighting for her place in the world. He’s heard good things about her fighting, but her speech is sharp and to the point. She’s here for political reasons, mainly. She is actually very striking, her black hair exceptionally long, as is the style, but fluttering lose behind her. Purple, the first time he’s seen it on anyone but Victor, is the colour she has chosen to decorate her snow-white horse with. It’s most likely a symbol of her status within her family, but the black hair, white horse and purple colours make a beautiful ensemble. As she talks, she holds her head high and looks directly at him, the sincerity in her address somewhat placating the bluntness of it. He appreciates her honestly, at least.  
  
Her voice softens at the end, however, and she drops her head, respectful or bashful, he’s not sure.  
  
“I hope too, Prince Yuri, that should this tournament work out in my favour, we could become good friends. I have heard conflicting accounts of you, and wish to discover for myself the kind of person you really are.”  
  
Yuri blinks at her, surprised.  
  
Okay, this one might be a bit of a dark horse. He nods, silently, and she smiles at him, meeting him eye to eye again. As she turns away and walks back to her place in line, Victor is eyeing her with interest.  
  
“Interesting. The Crispino twins caused quite a scandal about this tournament. It looks like she’s taking it seriously, too – this is not a ploy to enrage her brother as I suspected it might be.”  
  
The first three are the most serious contenders. They tend to line up in order of rank. JJ is a King, obviously. Chris is a second son, but his older brother has been critically ill for many years, and it is assumed he will be bypassed for the throne in preference for a healthy king. He is also of high note as a swordsman and knight in his own right. Princess Crispino, too, is known for her jousting, as well as being closely tied to the running of her country.  
  
The rest of them are second-borns or lower still, princesses mostly, and mostly ones that Yuri doesn’t recognise. None of them have anything particularly interesting to say, although a few strike him as worth watching when they finally get to the tournament itself. There’s a lot more talent here than any of them had hoped for, and not a single one is new to competition in Rusiki-style Championships.  
  
That is, apart from the final challenger.  
  
Seeing as every kingdom has the right to send a participant, tournaments always draw a few wild cards. Usually they’re young hopefuls from large families, forced far away from their home kingdoms to find tenuous chances at inclusion halfway across the world. They tend to tag on at the end, bum out during the first round, and are never heard of again. Chasing their tails back home to their kingdoms.  
  
Yuri’s heard of Khazakistannas, of course. He’s had too many geography lessons with Lilia to forget. He doesn’t know exactly where it is, though, and they don’t have much of a connection with countries that far away because trade links are more difficult.  
  
When the herald announces that this is none other than Otabek Altin, heir to the throne, Yuri flounders for a moment.  
  
Katsuki, equally surprised, whispers to Victor.  
  
“Was he on the list?”  
  
“Last minute entry. He only arrived yesterday, and it turned out his messenger was lost somewhere crossing the mountains.”  
  
“He came across the mountains?” Yuri hisses is disbelief, before Victor gives him a look and pointedly turns his attention back to Prince Altin.  
  
The prince nods at them, although he makes no attempt to smile. When he opens his mouth to speak, however, it is with the utmost reverence and respect. His gaze is unwavering. He doesn’t once glance at Victor, like most of the other challengers had. It’s the first time Yuri’s got the feeling that somebody’s actually here for him, and not of the rest of the mess that goes with these events.  
  
“Prince Yuri. As a young boy, I was lucky enough to witness you training first hand. I understand that you are not entering any Championships, and as a result, this may be my only chance to face you in combat. It would be the greatest honour for me to duel with you, the prince with the eyes of a knight.”  
  
That’s it. That’s the entirety of his speech. It’s the shortest they’ve had all morning, and yet it’s the one that immediately had his interest.  
  
Victor and Katsuki are muttering together, possibly trying to work out when on earth Altin has been in Rusiki before. Yuri’s not paying attention.  
  
Altin wants to fight him. He doesn’t want to marry him. He doesn’t want political allegiance. He thinks Yuri has the eyes of a knight, he’s remembered him for years, probably, since he was just a kid - and he wants to fight him as an equal. Yuri doesn’t even know who he is.  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“Mmm.” Victor acquiesces, watching Prince Altin’s retreating back as all of the challengers leave the arena. “I take it he made quite the impression on you.”  
  
Yuri reels himself in automatically, giving nothing away.  
  
“He could be a dud.” Yuri shrugs. “You’ve never seen him fight.”  
  
“He won the Continental Knight’s Championship of Assisia for three years running without a single injury.”  
  
Yuri blinks.  
  
“Holy _shit_.”  
  
“ _Language_ , Yurio.” Victor sighs. Of course Katsuki knows these things. He’s useless socially, but he knows everything there is to know about the Championships, even the ones in kingdoms on the other side of the world. Technically, he did live there.  
  
Otabek is out of sight now, but Yuri recalls every detail he can to make sure he recognises him later. The flag is blue, with yellow on it, and his black horse wore the bright blue colours and a gold bridle. He doubt it will be gold when they’re jousting, but none of the others will be wearing the same shade of blue, so even inside his armour, Yuri should be able to tell him apart from the others.  
  
“I should have given him a favour,” he mutters, half to himself, and then realises that Victor and Katsuki are both within hearing distance. Yeah, both of them heard.  
  
They’re looking at him with two very different expressions. Katsuki’s smile is slightly wonky, like he’s fighting from letting it turn into a smirk, but his eyes are sparkling. Yuri glares at him, because he knows immediately what the pig is thinking. He’s a natural born romantic.  
  
He half expects the same reaction from Victor, but his half-brother is giving him the kind of look that threatens to pull his skin off to see what’s going on inside. Yuri glares back, angry as ever.  
  
They both look away, and the silence continues for several minutes after the statement. Yuri’s glad they’re leaving him alone about it, so that he can wrestle with the embarrassment of it on his own first, but it’s a lot more awkward than comfortable. They have nothing to do but wait for the first round as it is.  
  
“Of course, you get to choose who sits next to you at the banquet tonight, Yurio.”  
  
Victor smiles at him, and there, that’s the expression he expecting the first time round. It means trouble.  
  
“Idiot.” He bites back, “It’s who’s winning. I don’t get a say.”  
  
Victor laughs.  
  
“On the contrary. Do you not remember that I sat next to Yuri at the banquet at my tournament, even though Chris was winning at the time?”  
  
Yuri blinks. Actually, he had noticed that. At the time he’d thought it was a sneaky move, and not a completely legal part of the tournament. Victor had already been sweet on Katsuki, after all. Something to do with the fact that they’d met at a Championship before.  
  
Victor was a sap, but he was a sap with a very interesting point.  
  
“Huh,” said Yuri.  
  
Katsuki smiled.  
  
“I think that’s the first time you haven’t snapped today, Yurio.”  
  
“Shut up, pig. It’s too goddamn early for this.”


	2. The Challengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day one of the tournament is well underway. (TW: blood and violence)
> 
> I would also like to apologise for the glaring historical inaccuracies. This is not how tournaments worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been informed that I'm not posting this when I thought I was due to time differences. 
> 
> It's done though, so enjoy an early chapter!

 

The sun is high in the sky now. The presentations don’t take very long, but even in the summer months, the days in Rusiki are short. Yuri shifts restlessly in his chair, bored by all of the activity that isn’t actually achieving anything. They’ve been stetting up for the first round for what feels like hours.

They are starting with what is essentially a brutal elimination of the weakest fighters. They don’t have time to take all twenty-something of the challengers through the jousting, archery, falconry, and duelling stages in two days, so the first event is usually something of a brawl.

It’s not actually a battle. It just looks like one. People dying at this point is frowned upon as a waste of good training, so they’re given wooden swords and shields before being let loose. The idea is to keep going until there’s only six challengers left, the rest having been knocked out, surrendered, or too badly injured. It was always Yuri’s least favourite part of training. If you’re going to prepare for battle, why not a real one? There’s no point in pretending that you're trying to kill someone with a wooden sword.

“This crowd is massive!” Katsuki says, his eyes wide. “It might be even bigger than the Europia Championship!”

Yuri is caught between sulking and preening.

“Well duh,” He gripes, but Victor’s already talking again.

“There would have been more if Yuri had allowed it to be on horseback. The melees always draw the biggest crowds.”

Entire tournaments sometimes consist of this stage alone, but usually on horseback. Yuri had drawn the line at that – it’s supposed to be good practice and a chance to show off your strength, which you don’t need a horse for, and getting the horses injured for fun is utterly pointless. Pretty much everything about this stage is utterly pointless.

He says as much. Victor shrugs his shoulder, unconvinced. Ever the traditionalist, whatever he might say to the contrary.

“Don’t they all look a little lost in the middle of such a big arena? At least if they were all mounted it would look a lot more dramatic.”

Yuri will concede that, but he’s never going to admit it.

“Quit moaning, they’re starting.” He snaps.

It’s quite hard to follow, with more than a hundred people in the arena. There’s the challengers, obviously, all too many of them. They’ve all got to have their squires, too, holding their banners. Then there’s the mages, some from Rusiki and some of them employees of the challengers, on stand by for when something goes wrong. Well, he supposes it’s not actually going wrong when the intention is to cause harm.

They always start in the centre, split into two lines simply for convenience’s sake. They do look a bit strange, strung out like foot soldiers of the world’s smallest battle. It’s definitely not as intimidating as when they’re mounted. At the call of the bugle, they charge towards each other yelling, as they are wont to do, but due to the weight o the weapons and armour, it takes them a while to get to each other. It is, he ahs to admit, a little bit ridiculous.

As soon as they meet, however, any semblance of organisation is lost.

The fighters clump slightly to the left of the arena, making it difficult to see what exactly is going on from the box. It’s a mess of people anyway, to the point where it’s not even entirely possible to tell which arm belongs to who. They’ve ceased to be separate beings, morphing into a writing mass of movement. Their helmets are nearly all the same shape and colour, and none of them are wearing plumage for a melee like this. An occasional sword swings above head height to deal a blow to the head or the neck, and each time it happens the crowd roars in approval, even if usually all it does is bounce off.

“I have no idea what’s going on!” Victor has to nearly yell to be heard over the roar of the crowd, and whatever noises the competitors are making. “Where are the lines?” It had started out as battle cries, but has swiftly degenerated into shouts of pain and grunts of exertion. Yuri can’t even hear the squires yelling – they’re supposed to be keeping track of the knights, to see who’s left in and who’s out, but for some reason they’re all lined up on the other side of the ring. Nobody’s going to be able to hear them from there, and they have a terrible view of the fight anyway.

“Who organised this?” Victor is protesting, obviously following a similar line of thought.

“Somebody missing a brain.” Yuri yells back, “Half the flags are down already! How the hell are we supposed to know whose is whose?” That’s the second way to try and keep track of where they are – if their squire drops their flag from the line-up, they’re down and out.

“Oh my god,” Katsuki gasps beside him, evidently paying more attention to the nitty-gritty details of the fight. “JJ just splintered someone’s sword!”

It’s brutal, especially when somebody’s now got a weapon that could do more than just badly bruise their opponent.

It also doesn’t last very long. There are groaning bodies littering the field, and some of the knights are already limping away, even as the final few remainders are swinging wildly at each other. The Lady with the splintered sword – he doesn’t know who she is – is making the most of it, getting a good few solid side-swipes on her now overly-wary opponents.

At last, there’s only six still fighting, and they blow the horn to signify that it’s over.

Not too much blood has been shed, even with the splintered sword in play. At the end, three of the final six are easily predicted – JJ, Chris, Crispino all make it though without issue.

Victor grins over at Yuri, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Ah, Yuri! Looks like your favourite made it through.”

Altin is taking his flag like the rest of them, presenting it to the audience.

“So did Phichitica!” Katsuki says, sounding pleased.

Yuri studies the two challengers he doesn’t know. Both of them are of a similar stature to himself; slim and toned technique fighters, rather than bulk-strength warriors. They don’t look familiar though, and neither do their flags. It’s unlikely that they’re from Europian kingdoms.

“Which one’s she?” he monotones. He doesn’t really care, but he’s supposed to talk to them all at the banquet, and probably dance with them too. God knows he won’t have much to say, but he can at least get their names right.

“The taller of the two. You’ll like her! We used to train together; she’s got one hell of a style. She trained in both broadsword and katana from a very young age, and it shows!”

Yuri rolls his eyes.

“Thank you, but next time I want a breakdown of someone’s skill set I’ll ask for it.” Katsuki blushes slightly, much to Yuri’s satisfaction. It’s getting harder to do the longer he spends in Rusiki. “Who’s the other one?”

“I think she said she was Lady Ji,” Victor chimes in. “She’s the one who had the splintered sword. She’ll be under a lot of pressure now – people will already be saying she only got through by fluke. I think she’s very young, too. Knighted at seventeen.”

Yuri swallows his jealousy, for once. Victor has recently developed a very short temper for Yuri’s complaints about the situation. Even though he’d sympathised at first, he is very much of the opinion that Yuri had been too optimistic about his prospects of knighthood. As a prince, he doesn’t consider that their lives are fully their own, and dedicating yourself to your crown and country is simply part of the job. He expects Yuri to do the same.

“Yurio,” Katsuki says slowly, “I think that means that over half of your challengers are from a different continent.”

Victor makes a surprised noise.

“You’re right! JJ is from the Americas, and Ji, Chulanont and Altin are all from Assissia! That’s an interesting mix,” Victor comments. “Unusual, too, outside of a Championship.” Yuri ignores him, watching instead as the mages and squires pick through the debris, helping people to their feet and looking for lost swords and armour. Even though the scuffle lasted hardly any time at all, the arena has been churned into a muddy death trap. The smell of fresh, wet ground is sharp in the air.

It takes twice as long to pack away, if only because people keep falling over. Yuri allows himself to be mildly amused by it. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as watching royalty fall on their butts in the mud and knowing that they’re not able to complain about it.

Finally, after the challengers are announced and paraded, Yuri is allowed to escape the royal box. It’s supposed to be time for lunch, but he’s not hungry. He’s mostly caught between stressed and bored, and the only thing he knows will deal with that is going to the falconry.

“Don’t stray too far, Yurio!” Victor says as he gets to his feet. Yuri sighs.

“I’m only going to fly Ariya.”

“Stay close! It wouldn’t do to be late to your own tournament!”

“Fine. I’ll fly her from the battlements rather than the meadow. Does that make you happy?”

It does, and Katsuki drags him off to meet Princess Phichitica, who Yuri apparently should have heard of before, going by how much Victor already seems to know about her.

It’s surprisingly quiet inside the castle. All the knights and nobles are out at the tournament, and all of the staff are preparing for the banquet. He can still hear the commotion from the arena, but it’s muffled, at a distance. He can ignore it much more easily.

Ariya is happy to see him, nipping at his fingers as he removes her blind. She’s sharp, but his gauntlet is more than up to her talons. Georgi reinforced it for him so she didn’t injure his sword arm by accident.

“Hello, girl. Do you want to go out?”

She’s happy to be outside, too, although Yuri is careful to make sure he tucks enough meat in his little leather belt bag so that she will return without too much cajoling. It wouldn’t do to be late to his own tournament, after all.

For a while, he watches her soar above the battlements, but she doesn’t seem too energetic today. She takes to swooping low, between the top of the turret and his arm. Eventually she returns and attacks his bag, until he relents, allowing her the meat and taking careful hold of her leathers.

He’s lost her a few times. She’s always come back to him, but she’s a wild animal at heart. He can never forget that. Her feathers are ruffled from the wind up here, so he smoothes them down carefully with his bare hand. She’s as soft as ever. He likes that about her. Soft feathers, sharp talons, happy to be petted whilst using her pointed beak to tear into her dinner. A bird of contrasts – her cream, speckled chest fluff and her dark, sleek back.

He keeps an edge on her mind, holding her on his wrist while he quickly glances down to the arena. It looks further away from up here, on the edge of the meadow and the town beyond. He can see the horses lined up, being tacked up by squires in preparation for the jousting. He can’t see much of the people besides their colours, but it’s easy to draw Sara’s white stallion and Otabek’s black mare from the line up. The rest are less striking, partially because of their breeding, partially because of their colouring. JJ and Chris, he knows, have lovely bay shires, the favoured warhorse of Europia. Sara is lucky enough to have a thoroughbred, a sleek, dangerous looking thing that Yuri would have personally had gelded, although she seems to have perfect control over it.

Otabek’s steed is something of a halfway between the two. Stocky, like the shires, but less large, giving him the manoeuvrability and control that Sara has to her advantage. Phichitica’s horse is a lovely dappled grey, but he can’t really tell its shape because it blends in with the fences and tents, and Lady Ji’s horse is possibly a dun, and small, but he forgot to study their horses at the initial line-up, and can’t make much more out from this distance.

It’s a lot of variation for a joust, and it should be interesting. He’s bored of shires, in all honesty. They’ve always been too big for him, and they’re infuriatingly gentle after they’ve been gelded. He wants something that fights him a little. It’s not actually relevant. He’s never really had a horse of his own, and there’s no use for it, according to Yakov. They all respond so well to him if he tries, and it’s made him an adaptable and competent rider. It’s not necessary for him to dedicate the time to training and bonding with one of his own, especially now. Still... perhaps someday he’d like to anyway.

Ariya is pulling against him now, so he lets her go for one last loop before he calls her back again. It takes a little influence to get her down, but then she settles without any persuasion.  
He breathes easily again, distancing himself from the impact the next few days are going to have on his life. He will have the final say. He has no influence over it yet, but he will do. Until then, he just has to wait.

-

When he gets back to the royal box, it’s considerably fuller. Victor and Katsudon are back, and they’ve brought Phichitica with them. She sees Yuri, bows quickly and easily, and makes her excuses, saying it’s unfair for her to spend more time with him than the other challengers. Katsuki seems disappointed, but he has plenty else to occupy him, as the rest of the family have turned up. Yakov has dragged both Mila and Georgi away from their work to watch the only event that everyone seems to find exciting – the jousting.

Yuri moves to sit down at the end of the line, as he’s accustomed, but Yakov grabs him before he can.

“Not today, Yura. Come, this is your tournament.” He doesn’t get bumped up to his father’s right side, like Victor, but sitting directly to his left instead of Georgi or Mila is new. He grins at his sister, who just flicks her hair at him and shrugs.

“Mum’s orders.”

Right, he forgot. Mila still finds her intimidating. She’s been browbeaten into calling her mum, something Lilia never managed with Yuri, but their relationship is nonetheless much less intimate.

“Is she coming?”

Mila nods, her expression neutral.

“She’s just checking up on granddad.”

“He’s okay?”

“He’s fine.”

Yuri nods, and turns back to the arena.

Mila and he used to be inseparable, although constantly arguing. Nikolai’s illness has taken it out of them both. Mila laughs at him less, Yuri shouts at her less, and they spend less time together. Siblings grow up.

Yuri isn’t paying attention as the riders warm up. The small rink is visible from the main arena mostly just because it was the flattest and safest place to put it, but that’s fine with Yuri. He wants a closer look at the horses than he got from up on the battlements.

Yakov is the one who reminds him to actually pay attention to what he’s looking at, rather than just staring blankly at the rink.

“Lilia thinks you should challenge your winner to archery, not a duel.” He states, his arms crossed across his stomach, his gaze directed at anywhere but actually at his son.

“Lilia likes to watch me shoot.” Yuri replies, as neutrally as he can manage. He knows he would win if it was archery, knows Lilia knows that too. She taught him, after all. And Yakov, despite everything, is not an idiot.

“Hmmm.” Yakov sighs, “It’s too late to change the terms now anyway.”

Yuri nods, and goes back to watching the horses.

“Who’s first?”

Nobody needs to answer, because the fanfare sounds, and JJ and Lady Ji enter the arena. Yuri winces.

“Ouch. That’s a tough start.” Mila voices. Suddenly defensive, Yuri mutters under his breath;  
  
“Kick his butt, Ji.”

Mila bursts out laughing.

Yakov glares at them both and they quieten down.

JJ is prancing again, his poor hulk of a horse already sweating. Ji (damn, what was her first name?) is just trotting carefully, until the second trumpet call. They both take up their weapons. JJ’s squire is confident and collected, her movements precise. Ji’s is enthusiastic, but a little off. Ji herself takes a little while to settle into the weight of it, but then it becomes obvious that she more than knows what she’s doing. Her horse is tiny, practically a pony, but it looks feisty. She’s let him have his head a little, and it’s clear how well she had him controlled before.

JJ’s horse stands dead still, waiting for the signal. Ji’s prances on the spot, but she seems used to it and it doesn’t upset her balance.

At the blast of the horn, Ji leaps forwards, holding her horse back from the gallop it wants as they bear down on each other. Both lances are steady.

The clash is just over halfway.

“Ji’s horse is faster than JJ’s. That could be an issue for her.”

“It was a solid hit though, her aim is precise.”

“His was better. He nearly unseated her.”

Good aim, good balance, and it’s a much higher scoring hit.

JJ is not someone who plays safe, Yuri thinks. He’s a show off.

The jousting isn’t actually very exciting. Initially, the thrill of watching two huge animals charge at each other with their riders holding huge weapons seems to capture the crowd, but the first few matches are tame. JJ easily de-seats Ji, and the rest of it stays similar. If anyone gets de-seated, it’s only one at a time. The matches seem unfairly weighted for two or three goes, until Sara faces Phichitica. Sara surprised everybody by giving Chris a good knock before he threw her, and Phichitica knocked Otabek’s shield away, although lost by points without either of them falling.  
This, however, seems more fraught. They’ve both already ridden once, and it shows. It’s slightly less accurate, the horses allowed more reign, the pace faster.

They line up again, both horses panting, both riders hefting the weight of the poles with increasing difficulty.

They’ve only got two clashes left, but both seem to pull something up for this one, and it’s brutal. Sara goes flying, knocked out of her saddle by a hit to the shoulder that lands her on her back in the dust. Phichitica gets it straight to the stomach, her guard just slightly too high (Ji had hit her in the face, in fairness), and is winded completely. She grapples for breath on the ground as their squires catch the horses and Sara draws her sword. They’re a good distance from each other, which gives Phichitica just long enough to get to her feet and draw her weapon by the time Sara gets to her.

Yuri is shocked immediately by how easily they throw themselves into it. Joust duels tend to be less fierce than the actual duel stage because they’re lighter swords and both jousters have already sapped strength. These two though – Sara is practically trying to slice Phichitica’s stomach open. They’ve both lost their shields, and they’re only supposed to fight for first blood, but you wouldn’t know it from watching them. Phichitica’s last swipe nearly gets Sara’s neck, for god’s sake.

They’re still light on their feet, dodging desperate and fast, and the entire audience are holding their collective breath. All the sound in the arena is the heavy breathing of the fighters and the grunts as they swing and dodge, right up until the moment where Sara gets behind her opponent’s defence, and the only way Phichitica can defend herself from getting her chest slashed open is by raising her arm.

First blood isn’t usually quite so violent.

Katsuki makes a strangled cry.

They’ve both dropped their swords immediately. Sara is still standing, but Phichitica is kneeling, trying to hold the two sides of the wound together and staunch the blood flow.

The arena is still silent, shocked by the abrupt end to the fight. Into the silence, the princess sighs, and says,

“I can see my bone, you asshole. Urgh. That’s disgusting.”

Sara is the first to laugh. It’s the manic kind of ‘holy shit we were totally trying to kill each other and I have seriously injured you and you’re just joking about it’ laugh (Yuri knows that one a little too well). The audience titters uncertainly, but when it’s clear that the mages are already halfway across the arena towards them, and Sara helps Phichitica to her feet, they start to clap.

“That was the most dramatic one so far,” Says Mila over the applause. Yuri snorts at her.

“No shit.”

The others are intense, more involving than the first few, but nothing like as violent. They’re closer run battles though - It’s not the only duel, either, as Chris and Otabek end up going head to head. Chris wins, by only by a scratch. A literal one, too – all Otabek has to show for it is a tiny nick on his hip, to the point where they have to get one of the other squires to verify that it is actually fresh. They shake hands quite amicably.

By the end of the day, they’ve all fought each other once. Phichitica has had to drop out because of her injury, knocking the number of challengers down to five. Even so, they’re at it for hours.  
Yuri is so bored. He hates being stuck on the sidelines of stuff like this. When he knows what it feels like to be the one on the horse, the weight of the weapon in your hand, tunnel vision on the opponent and pure speed between your legs, fighting the flight instinct as potential death stares you in the face... watching it does nothing for him. He was hoping for sympathy from Victor, but he seems perfectly content to watch, and Katsuki disappeared to go fret over Phichitica after the injury.

There’s a reason that the jousting has nearly a whole day to itself, but it takes so long to sort all of the rankings out afterwards.

He just wants food.

-

“Who are choosing to sit with at dinner?” Lilia asks him. She’s helping him do his hair in his room. There’s not an awful lot of point to it, seeing as he has to wear his hood anyway, but it makes him at least feel like he’s making an effort. Besides, it keeps it out of his face.

Yuri shrugs. She bats his shoulder as a warning to keep still.

“Not sure yet. Who’s leading?”

“King Leroy.” She didn’t ever make it to the joust, but she and Yakov have already spoken about it. Sharp as ever, she won’t mince her words to spare his feelings, even though she knows exactly his feelings on this entire subject.

Yuri groans.

“Oh god, not him. Who’s second?”

“Yura,” she tugs through his hair with the comb, and he winces, “were you watching or weren’t you?”

When he doesn’t answer, she relents.

“Prince Altin. Everyone apart from King Leroy got knocked off at least once, but Prince Altin had the most hit points.”

“Overall, or just of the others?”

“I’m not the person you should be asking about this.”

“Yakov will yell at me for not paying attention.”

She finishes the braid, ties it off, and sets her hands on his shoulders.

“Overall. Why weren’t you paying attention?”

He shrugs with one shoulder, slumping down in his chair. Lilia is something like a mother to him, but not really. Still, she’s been a witness to all his fights with Yakov. She probably already knows anyway.

“I’m never going to be a knight. Sitting on the sidelines while they all try to prove themselves by doing stuff that I’d beat them at easily is pissing me off.”

She nods, still frowning, but not so severe.

“Channel it. When you meet your opponent, whoever it turns out to be, they’ll have been competing for two days. They’ll be tired, exhausted even. If you’re not only fresh but also full of anger, beating them won’t even be a question. It’ll be a surety.”

Yuri is listening to her, although his head is turned away. It’s a good point. It had been half on his mind since he agreed to this whole thing.

“Yura,” Lilia takes his chin and forces him to look at her. Her eyes are narrowed, as ever, her voice sharp and bright all at once. She’s not exactly the most affectionate of stepmothers, but she knows what makes Yuri tick. That’s more than his actual father can manage. “Stop thinking about this as arranging a marriage. You’ll be defeated before you begin. You’re choosing a bodyguard. That was the arrangement, was it not?”

She lets him go, and he nods sharply. He daren’t argue, even though the force of keeping silent is beating like a heartbeat on the inside of his skull. It’s not a choice though, is it?

“Now. The servants need to know where to sit people.”

Yuri sighs and rolls his eyes, dragging himself up out of the chair to dress.

“Prince Altin will do. He’s apparently met me before, so I at least have a starting point.”

-

Prince Altin doesn’t talk much. In his defense, Victor and Katsudon talk non-stop, so it’s not like he can get a word in edgeways.

Eventually, after all seven courses have been cleared and enough mead has been drunk, they wander off to dance.

“I’m sorry to drag you into this,” Yuri starts, trying to be pleasant. Altin’s silence has been disconcerting him. He’s spent the whole night snapping at the others and feeling like a child, which is not really the impression he wanted to make. “I know they’re infuriating.”

Altin is one of those people who will always look you directly in the eye when speaking to you. After hearing him project his voice earlier to relay his pledge, Yuri realises that Altin’s speaking voice is surprisingly soft.

“I think they’re lucky. I know Katsuki’s family. His older sister had much less luck in an arranged marriage.” Yuri blinks at him.

“Katsudon has an older sister?”

Altin stares at him for half a second.

“If he has not yet told you, it is not my story to tell. He is a long way from home, and perhaps he is enjoying the freedom from his personal life being common knowledge.”

Yuri considers that. It doesn’t seem to suit how open he and Victor are about their relationship, but on second thoughts, he doesn’t actually know anything about Katsudon’s life before Rusiki, let alone his family. Maybe Altin’s got a point.

“Why do you call him Katsudon?”

“Uh... it’s a long story.”

“We do have all night.”

-

Victor suddenly stops twirling him to look over his shoulder.

“Don’t look now,” he whispers, moving into a step sequence so that he turns them slightly, “but I think Yurio is talking to that prince and actually smiling.”

They continue turning until Yuri gets to see exactly what he’s talking about.

He smiles, and tucks his head into his fiancé’s shoulder.

“You know, I think you might actually be right?”

Ten minutes later, they’re swaying to something slow when Yuri looks over again, and blinks.

“Victor...”

“Mmm?”

“They’re gone.”

“What?”

-

The breeze up on the battlements is as refreshing as ever, more so at night when there’s a hint of a chill in the air. Ariya soars above them, her white chest a brief flash against the stars. From below, the music and hubbub of a party held in his honour is going ignored.

“I don’t remember that.”

“You were younger than I was.”

Yuri hums in response, his mind half in Ariya’s. The wind is fresher again up there, ruffling her feathers as she soars and dives.

“I’m amazed you remembered me for that long, though.”

He doesn’t get an answer.

Otabek is watching him, carefully.

“Why did you pick me tonight? We’ve never spoken, and King Leroy is technically leading.”

Yuri shrugs, calling Ariya back to him. He wants to have her warm body close if they’re going to be having a conversation like this.

That’s the thing about arranged marriages – they push everything too fast, too intense. Even people that might otherwise just be friends, Yuri can’t help but think – what if? What if I spend the rest of my life with this person? What if I never see them again? There’s no in-between, usually. This is the first time Otabek’s been back to Rusiki in over a decade.

“I hate JJ with a burning passion. He’s only here because I was rude to him and he wants to prove that he could beat me in a fight. Also, we’ve never spoken.”

Otabek considers that, and smiles slightly. Yuri tries to pretend he isn’t looking. It takes a lot to make Prince Altin smile, even just a tiny bit. He seems to be relaxing now they’re away from people, though. Yuri can relate to that.

He wonders what he looks like when he laughs.

“And your pledge was the best one.”

He turns away, uncomfortable with the admission.

“Because I don’t want to marry you?”

“Because you considered me an equal.” Yuri corrects, letting Ariya go again. She dives off the side of the battlements, and for a moment he’s with her as she falls, but then she pulls out again and he’s back on the battlements.

“Hang on,” he realises. “You came all the way here with the express intention of fighting me, which means getting to the final stage. That means...”

“If I win, we marry. If I lose, I become your bodyguard.”

Yuri’s actually relieved to see that Otabek understands the rules here, because he seems supremely unbothered by the ultimatum.

“Either way, you’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Otabek tilts his head on one side and looks away from Yuri for the first time in the conversation. He leans over the battlements, watching Ariya float on an updraft over the forest.  
  
“I’m not the firstborn.”

Yuri doesn’t know how to respond to that. ‘Me neither’? ‘Okay, and’? He waits instead, and Otabek does eventually continue. He considers his words so much more than Yuri’s used to. He knows that this isn’t Otabek’s first language, but it isn’t his either, and he rushes into his words and sentences anyway, just like he does in his mother tongue. He wonders what Otabek sounds like in his. Yuri hasn’t travelled much; he doesn’t even know what it’s called.

“My older sister had an arranged marriage. She was supposed to stay in the kingdom to run it, but he forced her to live with him and give up her throne. My parents weren’t happy, but it was an important contact, and she seemed safe enough. But she was... unhappy. She wrote me many letters. I burned most of them, for her safety more than anything.” He stops himself, as if he’s said more than he meant to. Yuri stays silent, just listening.

Ariya heads back towards them but swoops over their heads, so they both turn and watch her sail over the castle. The bright lights in the courtyard below make the stars start to fade from Yuri’s sky. He turns away to find Otabek looking at him again. Completely unprepared for the return of the full force of his attention, his breath hitches.

“I have a niece and a nephew, twins. It was not a difficult delivery, and for a few days it seemed like she’d be fine. But she died, a week later.”

Yuri doesn’t know why he’s being told this, doesn’t understand how it’s relevant to why Otabek would come halfway across the world just to see him. He blinks, as if it will somehow save him from Otabek’s eyes. It doesn’t, but sensing his discomfort, he turns away again, to the forest.

“She wrote me a letter, but I never saw it. Her husband found it before I did, and destroyed it. I knew her well, though. I can guess what happened. She thought that having the children would give her something to live for, something worth fighting for, but it...”

He doesn’t finish.

“...didn’t?”

Yuri fills in. Otabek nods, and turns to him.

“My parents have never forgiven themselves. They are very much against me being here.”

Yuri blinks.

“So why are you?”

Otabek smiles, properly.

“I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

A breeze blows from below, and Yuri shivers.

“I really don’t.”

Prince Altin is holding out his hand.

“I’d like to be friends with you, Yuri.”

Yuri stares at him for a moment.

Nobody’s asked to be his friend before.

Smiling, he takes it.

“Yurio! What have you... oh.” It’s Victor. Of course it is, the moron. Yuri lets go like his hand is on fire and immediately regrets it. Victor narrows his eyes at him. “My apologies, Prince Altin. I didn’t mean to interrupt. However, we are holding a banquet in Prince Yuri’s honour, and he seems to be absent. You are welcome to join us, if you wish.”

Yuri sighs, and calls Ariya. She lands on his arm seconds later.

“Alright, I’m coming.”

He doesn’t move, and Victor seems to get the hint, heading back down the staircase. Yuri waits a couple of seconds.

“Thank you.”

Altin stares at him. Yuri really doesn’t want to explain, but to his relief, Otabek seems to get it. He nods, once, and they head back to the falconry to put Ariya away. It turns out that Otabek also keeps falcons, and it’s an easier subject than dead siblings.

When they get back to the banquet, Yuri stops just outside the door. Before Otabek can step back in, he grabs his arm. His fingertips fizz at the contact.

“You better beat JJ’s ass, okay? I can’t deal with that shit for the rest of my life.” It’s mostly light-hearted, but it’s also not. Yuri’s not thinking about Otabek’s sister, and he is.

Prince Altin nods, and gives him a thumbs up. Yuri takes a deep breath, digs a smile out of somewhere, and does it back. Otabek smiles too, and Yuri’s melts into genuine relief.

Mila pounces on Yuri immediately.

“You haven’t danced with me once, you little shit, I’ve had to put up with Georgi’s moaning all night,”

Otabek vanishes immediately. Most of the others leave him alone. Chris has friends here he hasn’t seen in a while. Ji and Phichitica both seem to consider themselves out of the running, and don’t bother to approach. Sara strikes up conversation, and seems nice enough, but Yuri has to work not to snap at her. After Mila steals Sara (mostly by accident, he thinks, they just hit it off immediately) he spends most of the rest of the evening trying to avoid Victor and JJ in turns.

It’s not much fun.

He’s taken to hiding in the corner and picking at his Rusiki-blue robes when JJ finally finds him.

Yuri’s grown a bit in the last few years, but JJ still has a more than slightly annoying habit of crowding him in. He shouldn’t have put himself up against the wall, because now he doesn’t have an escape route.

“Yurioooo,” he sing-songs, and Yuri wants to stab him in the face.

“That’s not my name.”

JJ smiles.

“Oh, but don’t all your friends call you that now?”

“Exactly.” Yuri snaps, turning his head away. His hood cuts him off so that he can’t actually see JJ’s face anymore. It’s particularly satisfying.

“Yurio, I’m wounded!” Yuri rolls his eyes, and shuts up. JJ only wants a rise anyway. If he keeps quiet for long enough, he’ll go away.

“What are you doing?” A quiet voice says. Yuri’s eyes snap open as JJ draws back. Yuri immediately sidesteps and gets out, standing between JJ and the centre of the room. Otabek watches him before tuning his attention back to JJ.

“Don’t you think that behaviour is a little insensitive, considering that you brought your squire to the banquet?”

Yuri has no idea what he’s talking about, but JJ immediately backs off, his swagger gone.

“I hadn’t pegged you as that type of guy, Prince Altin.”

“I suppose I was lucky then, that I was well informed about the type of person you were before I met you.”

And just like that, JJ’s gone.

“He’s a dickhead.” Yuri says, grumpily.

“I’ll beat him.” Otabek replies, calm as ever. He’s apparently oblivious to the fact he just said something that severely pissed off a monarch, but Yuri’s done something similar more than once in his life. Dickheads are dickheads, whatever their title.

“Want to dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to issue a formal apology to people who like JJ (and I'm including myself in this) and Yakov because they're kind of the villains of this piece?
> 
> Please don't judge just yet - backstory and explanations are incoming! After all, this is in close third so 90% of it is Yuri's perspective, and lets be honest, he's not the most forgiving of people. 
> 
> Also, some Lilia appreciation pls. This woman would make a badass Queen.


	3. The Favour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note before reading: story tags have been updated! 
> 
> You may also notice that the number of chapters is now uncertain - I had an amazing conversation with somebody about story structure and it helped immensely, but also meant I spent hours going over my plans and revising them! i am still in the process of doing that, hence uncertainty :) The tags are accurate for now, and if necessary, I will update them as I go along so that they're not too spoiler-y until the actual update. I really hate that about tags when you're trying to be mysterious and build tension and stuff, but trying to stay ambiguous is p. much impossible (I am aware that some tags on this are possibly triggering, and I marked those as early as possible, spoilers be damned). 
> 
> Anyway - I haven't been posting regularly on this site for about three years, so if there's anything you feel I need to know, I am far from adverse to being told! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Prince Altin vanishes pretty early on in the night. They dance a few times first, which keeps Yuri out of the crowd without tiring him out. It’s graceful, in an understated kind of way. He’s not half bad, as a partner. Yuri will give him that much. He has a certain poise, an easy confidence in his movement that makes him very easy to work with. The only real issue they have is deciding who should lead, but that one sorts itself out easily enough; neither of them do.

It’s pleasant, then; nothing more than simple movement and repetition. Otabek doesn’t expect him to talk and dance at the same time, which is a relief. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that Otabek is like nobody Yuri has ever known before, and he’s okay with that. He likes it, actually. It’s undemanding. Yuri steals him a few times more than strictly necessary just to get a break from the others.

“This is the third time we’ve danced exactly the same dance,” Otabek points out, when Yuri finds him again and drags him off.

“I know,” Yuri sighs, “but otherwise I have to dance with Chris, who will attempt to embarrass me into oblivion, or somebody I barely know who’ll probably step on my toes.”

Otabek, very generously, does not point out that Yuri knows some of the others better than he knows him.

“What about Victor and Yuri?” He asks, to which Yuri only sighs.

“As if they’ll dance with anyone but each other.”

Otabek seems happy enough with this explanation, and obliges him several more times. Then he abandons Yuri to his fate, wanting to go to bed so that he’s well rested for tomorrow. Yuri’s actually fine with that. It’s kind of for his sake, after all. He’s stuck dancing for several hours longer, but JJ leaves him well alone, and Victor and Katsudon also head to bed early on in the evening. Together. Ugh. Even his toes survive the worst of the damage, much to his relief.

His last dance is with Lilia, of all people. Unfortunately, that means that he goes to bed with bruised ankles and wrists from her attempts to correct his position. When he wakes up in the morning, everything aches. Especially his feet.

He rolls over in bed and glares at the sun, as if doing that will make it run and hide back under the horizon and leave him to sleep a little longer. It doesn’t, obviously. Even so, he manages to huddle under the blankets for a frankly luxurious amount of time.

Lilia comes to fetch him eventually.

“Yura, you missed breakfast,” she scolds, sharply, drawing the curtains of his four-poster aside. He rolls over, opens his mouth to snap at her, and shuts it again abruptly. She’s holding a bowl. “Eat quickly. Leave it for the servants to tidy. You don’t need help dressing?”

“No,” he shakes his head, yawning. “No corsets during the day.”

It’s an unofficial rule of his own devising, but it’s possibly the only rule in his entire life that he hasn’t broken. He shrugs his tunic and hood on whilst shoving breakfast in his mouth. The hood is slightly too big, designed to be grown into when he was seventeen, and had already had his growth spurt. He shoves his crown on top, hoping that it’s small enough to look like a more common circlet. There are lots of people he wants to avoid this morning. There’s no hiding when his tunic is emblazoned with the crest of Rusiki, especially when it’s his tournament, but at least he’s not sticking out like a purple prune in the middle of everyone like some people he could mention.

The walk down to the arena isn’t long, but it will be busy. Leaving his room just slightly too late means he manages to keep out of everyone’s way right up until he actually gets there. By then, however, he’s beginning to think that he might have made it worse. He settles into his seat next to Yakov, awkwardly aware that the King is fuming. Steam is practically coming out of his ears. Ah, shit. He’s in for it.

“Did you enjoy the banquet last night?” Yakov asks. The question might even have been somewhat innocuous, if it weren’t for the harsh current in his voice. Yuri gratefully notices that Lilia is here today, and that means Yakov’s temper may be slightly mitigated. Maybe.

“Some of it.” He demurs, vaguely.

“The parts of it that you bothered to be present for.”

He wonders what exactly Victor has told their father. Usually it’s nothing, and they all watch each other’s backs, but...

“When you weren’t busy making bargains with the competitors.”

“ _What_?” Yuri is genuinely surprised. Yakov’s accusation is not what he was expecting. Victor didn’t actually hear anything, he didn’t think. All he’d found was them talking and flying Ariya. Something has been seriously miscommunicated.

“You were shaking hands with prince Altin.” Oh. _Oh_. “You also,” Yakov’s fingers are tapping against the arms of his throne, “threw King Leroy’s horse during his pledge yesterday, and he didn’t get to finish it.”

Okay, put like that, it doesn’t look good.

“He would have gone on all day otherwise.” Yuri says, picking the easiest bit of the accusation to respond to. “It’s not like he was actually competing at that point.”

“So you did it when he was competing too?” Yakov growls, his lip curling back. Yuri doesn’t have to see it to know it’s there. This is the weirdest argument he’s ever had with the king, and they’ve had plenty. They’re both staring straight forward, watching as the squires present the banners again.

“Of course not, I’m not an idiot. I’m not going to go and deliberately piss off a bunch of foreign dignitaries.”

Yakov makes an unamused huff through his nose.

Fine, it’s not his best argument. He’s been known to do it before, and not for any good reason. He even has a motive this time.

“But you’ll risk striking a bargain with a stranger from a kingdom we have no ties with at all?” Yakov is snarling now, and Yuri knows he’s on thin ice. It doesn’t help that his first instinct is to push back.

“We weren’t striking a bargain, _dad_.” Yakov’s always hated being called anything even vaguely familiar. It’s become a habit of Yuri’s to do exactly that. 

“Then what the hell were you doing?”

Yuri takes a deep breath, tries to stop himself, and fails.

“His sister died because of an arranged marriage. He was telling me about her.”

Shit. He doesn’t know which he feels worse about, the fact that he told Otabek’s story to his father (and by default, the rest of the royal box) when he was so gentlemanly about keeping Katsuki’s family history to himself, or that he essentially used Otabek’s dead sister to get back at his dad.

Holy shit, he’s an asshole.

The rest of the royal box is silent.

It stays silent as the remaining challengers walk into the ring. It’s strange, this little bubble of silence in the middle of a crowd that are cheering for them.

Somebody’s playing a fanfare again. The amount of pomp and circumstance for these things is nothing short of ridiculous. He’s not even sure what the presentation is supposed to be for this morning. They’re already saluting, and usually that means they’re about to leave again.

Yuri stands up.

The crown comes off without protest, no matter how hard he pulled it on this morning. The edges are dulled, but he grips it so hard they dig into his hand. He drops it, quite unceremoniously, on Yakov’s lap.

Mila gasps, but he barely registers her.

The crowd closest to them starts to quieten. It only spreads as he vaults over the front of the royal box. The loud and boisterous conversations are silenced as a serious of elbow-nudges and arm-pats pass their way through the audience. Whispers of ‘look’, ‘what’s he doing?’, and the occasional ‘what’s going on?’ turn the tide of focus to him.

Nobody’s grabbed him yet. Nobody’s tried to stop him. It’s almost as if they don’t believe that it’s actually happening. They just watch.

He daren’t look behind him, daren’t steal a glance at the reactions of his family. Disobedience is kind of his thing, but this... this is going to get him in serious trouble.

Sara’s stallion paws the ground, nervously. Clever animal, Yuri thinks, taking a moment to soothe it. It settles, as does the crowd. The whispers swirl around him, a current of speculation on the wind. What possible reason does he have for walking out into the ring like this?

All eyes are on him.

Good.

He places himself in front of the five horses.

In one fluid, easy movement, he flips back his hood. The sound of the world comes into clarity as the material falls away from his ears. The muttering squires' words are rounded with meaning. The banners flutter in the slight wind more energetically when he can hear the fabric flap as the colours curl in the wind. At last, his peripheral vision is not framed with the colour of the day. The trees in the woodland appear, green and waving,  to his left, the smoke rising from the village to his right. He'd known they were there, of course, but somehow being able to see them gives the world a lot more depth. Unknown notes in the air are suddenly identifiable; the tang of diluted woodsmoke; the soft tint of drying moss and mushrooms. It seems unlikely that this is more than just a figment of his imagination, and yet. Everything seems a lot more real like this.

It’s sunny. He knows that the bright morning rays are reflecting off his golden hair, the blonde that Yakov always has him cover up. The positioning is deliberate – he should be standing directly in front of the royal box, between the King and Queen. Her hair, tightly bunned at the top of her spine, stands out dark against her pale skin and circlet. His, bright and silver by genetics rather than age. On either side of them sit the princes, who take after one parent each. And Mila’s, as always, is dyed.

Perhaps it might not be immediately obvious to onlookers – Yuri doesn’t care. This is about his own freedom, and about his defiance of Yakov.

His hair is still braided from last night. It’s messy, slept on, but he wasn’t expecting to be doing this. He pulls at it until the scrap of fabric holding it all together comes loose. It tumbles down past his shoulders, long and loose like nobody except Lilia has seen it before. Thin, smooth, it falls like a curtain at the end of an act.

He holds the piece of fabric in his hands. Lilia has tied his hair with it for as long as he can remember. It’s green, supposed to match his eyes. Somebody embroidered an ivy pattern on it, in extraordinary miniature detail, and with great care. It may have been his mother.

A murmur starts up among the audience. Louder than the whisper, it seeps into the arena like a rising tide of water, but then recedes as they wait to see his next move.

It’s a favour.

Yuri has somebody that he wants to win, more than the others. He lets the realisation spread, walking slowly without immediately choosing a direction, until it seems natural to do so.

There are gasps, he thinks; expressions of disbelief; murmurs of intrigue. He’s turned away from JJ.

The last few metres are slow. He feels like he’s walking through mud. This whole time he has avoided making eye contact. Keeping his head bent, his hair falling about his face, had protected him somehow from the scrutiny of the crowd. Finally, he looks up, and there he is.

He stands beside the horse and soothes it, but the mare is calm. He senses a streak of fire in her, but not now. That’s good.

He wishes he could sense Otabek like that.

A deep breath fortifies him somewhat. It wasn’t planned, but he’s here now. Turning and walking away is simply not an option. Attempting not to tremble, he holds out the favour.

Otabek takes his helmet off. His gaze is focused on the scrap of green fabric. Of course he’s not smiling, but then neither is Yuri. That means nothing.

His dark hair, released, tumbles just to his shoulders to rest there like it did last night. There’s a slight wave to it, nothing that could be called a curl, but something more than Yuri’s flat, straight hair. The front is pulled back, out of his face, almost exactly the same as Yuri’s had been, but without the braid. There’s a slight difference behind his ear, and Yuri wonders whether the underside of his head might be shaved.

Resting his helmet on his lap, Otabek leans down and takes the offered fabric. Yuri tries not to collapse with relief.

“Thank you,” the prince says, genuine and solemn. “I will honour it.” Yuri goes to step back, but he continues. “and I will treasure it.”

Their eyes meet. Yuri wonders for half a second what he’s going to do with it, but Otabek doesn’t hesitate. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, he reaches up, and uses the band to tie the rest of his hair back, under the dip of his skull.

Yuri goes pink.

 _Holy shit, that’s intimate_.

Favours are supposed to be seen, after all, not tucked under a helmet. Mind you, everybody’s going to know anyway after this, so it’s not like he actually needs to display it.

Otabek lowers his hands, nods, and puts his helmet back on. Yuri nods back, turns around, and walks back towards the royal box.

It’s a long walk. He keeps his head up, high and proud, looking exactly where he’s going. Yakov is staring at him. Lilia is staring at him. Victor and Yuri and Mila and Georgi are staring at him. Holy shit, what has he just done?

The clapping starts behind him and spread, slowly at first, and then rising until the whole audience is clapping, loudly, and whistling too. Yuri tries not to blush, staring straight ahead at his father. He doesn’t put his hood back up.

By the time he gets back to the royal box he’s realised that there’s no dignified way of getting back in. To his great surprise, it’s Katsuki, the one who stands to lose most from pissing off the king, who leans out and helps him back in. It’s a bit awkward, trying to manoeuvre when Katsuki’s weighed down by his armour and Yuri has to hoist up his tunic a little to do it, but he manages to step over the barrier instead of vaulting it.

Katsuki’s the only one who realises that Yuri’s shaking. It’s not visible, but it’s definitely there, and he can definitely feel it. He gives Yuri’s hand a quick squeeze, and looks... proud?

There’s no predicting some people.

Yuri sits down, and tries to remain collected. Smoothing his hands over his knees, he focuses on the texture of his tunic, the tight, expensive weave and slight raise of the embroidery. The dark blue makes his hands look even paler than usual, and the red drains him almost completely. Yakov is almost visibly vibrating with anger next to him, but to hell with it. It’s his own damn fault anyway. If he hadn’t made them cover their hair in the first place, he wouldn’t have to deal with the gossip about it now.

Besides, Lilia’s wanted people to know for years, politics and public morale be damned. Yuri holds her self-respect in much higher esteem than he does Yakov’s ego.

Somebody, thank god, blows a fanfare, and the challengers leave the ring.

The noise of the crowd returns to a normal level.

“What the hell was that?”

Yakov demands as soon as he can.

Yuri takes a deep breath, and replies,

“I’ve been shouting for too long. You’d stopped listening.”

 

-

 

He wants Ariya, right now, more than anything.

She’s his go-to for anything that fucks with his brain. Birds have a one-track mind, and it’s so ridiculously calming to his all-too-loud thoughts to have that presence there.

Because this is Yuri’s tournament, he’s the one who gets to choose the contests. The initial brawl, the jousting and the duelling are a given, but there’s always space for one or two more. Obviously, falconry was his first choice, followed by archery. It’s easier to watch something you’re interested in, after all, and they’re his personal strengths.

He’s glad that they did falconry first, because he needs this now. It’s not Ariya, but he can be on the edge of the soar and the rise, feel the air move around him, and it’s calming. The sharpness of the mind of a predator leaves no space for doubt. 

He’s got a fight tomorrow, and he’s trying to focus on it. The thing is, he no longer feels as in control as he did after speaking to Lilia yesterday. If JJ is even his bodyguard, he knows he’s going to be miserable.

What’s the difference between the two, anyway? If anything, marrying someone means you have more chances to avoid them. You’re stuck with a bodyguard 24/7. The only difference being that with marriage, you’re expected to... no, well, that would be stupid because if the winner end up being a man anyway, it’s not like they can have heirs. Yakov doesn’t care about that anyway, there are four of them and they’re all still young. He had suggested that both Victor and Yuri’s tournaments would be female-only entrants, and those do happen, but Lilia persuaded him that their best options politically came from all genders, and that was that.

Thank god.

The falconry isn’t intense. It leaves his mind free to wander, and in fact, Yakov has left completely. He’ll try to be back for the archery, or maybe after. He is a king, and kings have duties.

In the little pause between Chris putting his falcon away and Sara getting her barn owl out (impressively unusual, he must admit), Victor glances at him.

He’s got something to say, evidently, and he’s going to fidget until he’s said it.

“What?” Snaps Yuri, unwilling to let him sit and fidget.

“I misunderstood.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. It’s not an apology, but knowing his family, it’s the closest he’s going to get.

“Whatever. Honestly, if there was nobody decent enough to beat JJ then I probably would be messing with shit.”

Victor smiles, but it’s a little tense.

There’s no way to win the falconry, as such. Yuri just picks the one he feels he liked best. Choosing Otabek is going to be hard now he has his favour, so he has to definitely outstrip the others. Even if he does win, he’s only going to be even with JJ. The archery and the duelling would be out of his control anyway.

He’s never felt so fucking helpless.

“I guess you regret telling him to eat dirt, huh?” Mila says, sticking her elbow in Yuri’s ribcage. He hisses, and swats her away.

“I regret nothing, hag. I’m not responsible for his actions.”

“You did antagonise him.”

“How was I supposed to know he’d retaliate by trying to marry me?”

Mila gives him ‘a look’, but then acquiesces.

“Okay yeah, I’ll give you that one. It’s not a normal reaction.”

“He’s _not_ normal,” Half a second later, he adds under his breath, “I do wonder what the deal with his squire is though.”

That’s all it takes. Mila doesn’t pick him up on it, obviously, but he knows she heard, and the seed is planted.

God, he’s such a dick when his whole future is on the line. He didn’t realise quite how ruthless he could be.

Sara finishes quickly – the fact that she tamed the bird at all seems to be most of the show. Yuri gets that. It’s much harder to raise owls that Kestrels, for example, but only because there’s less experience of it. The owl doesn’t feel that different from the other birds to him.

She’s not the only one with an impressive bird, either.

“Oi, dirt for brains, don’t fucking whistle during a falconry contest. Were you born in a barn?”

Mila has somehow vanished, so when Yuri turns to berate her, it’s Georgi he yells at instead. His half-brother looks suitably contrite.

“Sorry, Yuri. I didn’t know.”

In fairness, he doesn’t. He’s spent most of his life holed up with the mages, but still. Otabek could do with as few distractions as possible, and the crowd is already murmuring.

Victor’s never really been one for birds, preferring his hunting dogs, but he still knows the basics.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Yurio,” he says, still watching Prince Altin as he takes his stance, “but is that an eagle?”

It definitely is.

“I thought he’d brought his black kite with him.” Yuri replies. That was something he’d mentioned last night, when they’d been talking about Ariya.

He was camping down in the grounds. Due to his late arrival, there’d been no space for him in the castle. He hadn’t minded, because it meant he’d been able to keep his birds in a more familiar setting. They were used to tents, he said, not...

Oh.

“He did mention he had more than one bird, but I didn’t realise he’d brought them with him.” He realises aloud.

Katsuki seems to be frowning.

“It’s a long journey for such a big bird, and looking after more than one of them must have been a nightmare.”

“Especially crossing the mountains,” Victor adds.

Yuri, only half listening, is on the edge of the eagle’s consciousness already.

“It’s a healthy bird,” he informs them. “It’s captured, not raised.” Born in the wild. Yuri wonders whether catching an eagle is easier than a falcon. Did Otabek do it himself?

“Do you know what type of eagle it is?” Victor asks, and Yuri is saved from having to admit that he doesn’t by Katsuki.

“It’s a Steppe Eagle.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “The national bird of Khazakistannas.”

Well, that explains why it’s not the black kite today then. What it doesn’t explain is why Altin bought the other bird with him, if not for this contest.

The eagle is soaring above them. It’s huge, the wingspan almost as wide as Yuri’s arm span. Otabek isn’t asking much of it, just letting it out and bringing it back, when suddenly it vanishes, straight over the crowd and into the tent village.

Yuri holds his breath. Shit, Altin better not have lost his bird already. He looks for it, but it’s fast and he didn’t see exactly where it went. He can feel the other birds, the horses, somebody’s stray dog... he’s concentrating so hard that he almost misses the moment the bird returns to the arena.

Except... it’s not the same bird.

“A red-footed falcon?” Yuri asks, confused. Victor nods, equally bemused.

“What did he do with the eagle?”

“Where did the other one come from?”

There aren’t actually any rules for falconry. It’s supposed to be a sport, after all, not a stage in a tournament. You’re just supposed to show off your best. JJ had obviously released rabbits into the arena to show off the hunting skills of his hawks, and Ji had brought pigeons towards the same end, but Sara and Chris had seemed to content to just fly their birds and demonstrate their control outside of hunting grounds.

All of them, however, had only brought out one bird at a time. They’re expensive animals, after all, and losing a hunting bird is a big blow.

Yuri inspects Altin’s setup again. He does have a few perches, but no more than could usually be expected to show off the full range of a bird’s movement.

The prince, however, seems determined to surprise them.

The red-footed falcon settles itself on one of the perches. The audience have taken to quiet muttering again. Yuri knows he can’t actually demand silence of them, but still. It’s rude, and distracting for the birds.

Then the merlin appears.

It swoops over the arena a few times, before coming to settle on Altin’s arm. Yuri can’t help but smile as it nibbles his fingers. This one, too, is captured, as was the falcon, but they all seem calm and healthy, even in the new environment and having travelled for weeks, even months, to get here.

At least the crowd recognise the merlin. Yuri used to have one too, as have most of the royals and noblemen at one time or another. Not as fancy as a peregrine, but easier to deal with temperamentally.

By the time the merlin also takes a perch, the crowd is getting excited. What will he bring out next?

Yuri’s more concerned about _how_ he’s bringing them out. He can’t see exactly where they’re coming from, or where the Steppe Eagle went, but Otabek hasn’t called once. How on earth is he controlling them?

There are three perches left, and Yuri still hasn’t seen the black kite.

To his surprise, she comes wheeling over the royal box at that exact moment, calling. The shadow of her wings is the first thing he notices, so close to the ground and almost directly over his head.

When he looks up, Otabek is looking at him.

 _That was_ _deliberate_ , Yuri realises.

“How is he doing this?” Victor sounds as awed as Yuri feels. There are three birds in the arena now, and all of them are calm. He checks their minds, too, but there’s nothing else there. Not even a trace of influence, only his own observation.

“I have no idea. None of them have been influenced, I can tell. They’re all wild-born too, captured at adolescence.” And the black kite is still not fully grown.

Whatever techniques they use in Khazakistannas to train their birds, Yuri desperately needs to learn them. Right now.

Katsuki lets out a low breath.

“She’s beautiful.” He says, and Yuri is inclined to agree. The black kite wheels above them, and finally comes to rest on Altin’s waiting arm. He doesn’t even call her with it, just waits until she’s approaching and then puts his gauntlet out to receive her. What the hell?

There’s still two perches left, but no sign of the eagle. The black kite settles between the merlin and the red footed falcon. They make quite a line-up, close enough for the size and colour differences to be obvious. Yuri realises that they’re also all facing him directly.

There’s only one direction that a bird hasn’t flown from now, and sure enough, that’s where the last bird appears. At first, Yuri thinks from the shape that it’s a sparrow hawk, but the closer it flies he realises that’s not quite right.

“A shikra,” Katsuki breathes, awed. Yuri’s never seen one before. It’s beautiful, climbing high up into the sky until it’s barely a speck, and the whole crowd is craning back to see as it stops, turns, and dives straight back towards the ground.

It’s going so fast that the whole thing is over in just seconds.

He didn’t mean to edge it, didn’t mean to be there, but suddenly he was rocketing towards the ground too, diving headfirst at the centre of the arena, and he actually closes his eyes, shying from the impact, until at the last possible second the shikra pulls out. The chest feathers actually graze the ground. He grabs his chest instinctively, and immediately feels stupid, pressing his hands right to his heart. 

“Did you see that? Yuiro, did you see that?” Victor is bouncing in his throne as the bird settles on Altin’s arm and accepts a dead mouse as reward. The prince brushes the dust off the feathers, and it hops off to sit with the others.

Yuri didn’t, obviously. He was inside it though, and holy shit, if Victor’s excited he has no idea what Yuri’s lungs are doing right now because it’s definitely not normal breathing. He thinks he might be a little bit broken.

All three of them are sitting half out of their chairs, attention focused absolutely on the arena. Yuri’s never seen anyone this excited about falconry without any animals actually dying. Apart from himself, obviously.

The arena quietens eventually. Now that four of the perches are filled, people are beginning to speculate about the last one. And where did the Steppe Eagle go? The seconds drag out as nothing seems to happen, the four birds sitting quite still and quiet, as if waiting. Altin, too, is simply standing. He’s at ease, though, his legs apart, his hands behind his back, watching the perches.

In the distance, an eagle calls.

The last muttering of the crowd falls quiet as they listen.

It calls again, closer this time. Eyes turns to the sky, searching. Sure enough, right above them, the eagle suddenly appears. It’s got something in its claws.

Yuri squints with the rest of them as it descends, trying to figure out what it is. Eagles are carrion birds, after all, not usually hunters.

The partridge that it drops into Altin’s waiting hand, however, is definitely fresh. Actually, Yuri sees a leg twitch, and thinks it might not even be fully dead yet.

The eagle takes its position on the last stand.

The other birds flap and call, suddenly restless, and then all at once they take off skywards. They don’t fly together, not as a flock, but they all head in the same direction. Five dark shadows across the arena, five pairs of wings spread across the sky, five birds riding the wind. They’ve travelled halfway across the world for that display, and they’ve captured the whole audience. Not a single eye looks away as they vanish behind the tents.

Altin slings the partridge over his shoulder, nods respectfully to the royal box, and leaves the arena.

The audience goes wild.

Victor, smiling, turns to Yuri.

“I think I see what you mean about it not being necessary to meddle.”

 

-

 

"She was trained by a horseback archer, it's in the way she holds her elbow. I'd say most likely her father. We should have set up a mounted target."

Lilia is enjoying the archery. Yuri is not.

Otabek clawed a lead for the first time after the falconry, and Yuri had absolutely no qualms in giving him the win. Nobody would dare dispute that his display was, without a doubt, the most impressive.

However, Yuri’s excitement about questioning Otabek on his techniques is rapidly turning sour in his belly. Lilia, oblivious to his plight, is still analysing the techniques of all of the competitors. She and Yakov both missed the falconry due to various engagements, but now they’re back, and the rest of his siblings have been dispatched after their own responsibilities instead. Having a whole royal family take several days off in one go is more than a little bit unrealistic, after all.

To Yuri, it means he’s stuck in an inescapable situation with a King and Queen who were very publicly reminded of the state of their marriage less than two hours ago. By him, no less, at his own marriage tournament.

He can’t even be excited about the fact that Otabek is winning, because neither of his parents saw the display, and describing it is nowhere near as impressive as watching it. Yuri did, actually, try.

Unfortunately, archery does not appear to be Otabek’s strong point. He’s holding his own, to a point, but he’s nowhere near as good as the others. Yuri’s disappointed, obviously, because he thinks the rest of them are utter crap compared to what he could do, and because it means that JJ is going to take the lead again. Sara might actually win the archery overall, but even so, JJ will come above Otabek, and that will be that.

Yuri tries not to close his eyes. He can hear the arrows as they let fly, and the dull thunk as they hit the board. Lilia is still giving a running commentary, correcting stances and posture, evaluating their aim. His gaze is fixed on the ground before him. He’s not really listening, or at least he’s trying not to, until she actually questions him.

“Do you remember training with him at summer camp, Yura?” She asks.

“Who?” Yuri casts a quick glance at his father and adds, “I was watching.”

Lilia raises an eyebrow.

“Altin.”

Yuri shrugs.

“Oh, that. No. I mean, I was ten at the time, and I thought I was training to be a knight, so I was concentrating on other stuff. He told me about it though.”

She nods, thoughtfully.

“His archery was weak, even then. Nothing wrong with his fighting, I think it just wasn’t a priority in his Kingdom. It doesn’t look like that’s changed much.”

Yakov makes a gruff noise.

“Do you think it’ll put him out of the competition?”

Yuri turns his gaze on Lilia. She’s watching the archery again, contemplatively.

“No. He’s a good knight, well trained. He won’t be leading anymore, but the duelling is his strongest aspect. I think he’s got more than a decent chance at beating JJ.”

Yuri lets out a deep breath that he’s been holding for a while.

“Speaking of JJ,” Mila’s voice behind him makes him jump.

“Will people stop sneaking up on me like that? What do we pay the guards for?”

He bemoans, looking for something to throw at her and failing. Throne cushions aren’t exactly ideal weaponry. Mila just grins, flicking her bright red hair out of her eyes.

“Not to keep the royal family out?”

“Shut it, hag.”

“Yura, Mila.” Lilia snaps at them, “Stop it.”

“Sorry mum,” Mila blushes, “I do actually have news. Dad, can we um... can we talk? Somewhere quiet? It’s about King Leroy’s squire.”

Yuri perks up.

“Hey, can I come?” He goes to stand up, but Yakov pushes him back down in his chair.

“Sit, Yura. This is your tournament.” Yuri rolls his eyes, but stays put. “If it’s relevant, you’ll know.” Yakov adds, as he and Mila leave the tent. From anyone else, that would be reassuring, but Yakov tends to think that the less Yuri knows, the better. Yuri, obviously, disagrees.

There’s a smattering of applause as Sara accepts her win. Yuri’s glad for her – she’d have to do some real work if she wants to pull the tournament back from one of the others, but it’s good for her standing. She’s proven herself to be a good Knight, and she’s also proved to her brother that it was worth coming to this, whether or not she gets a husband out of it.

Yuri might envy her for that, a little bit.

Lilia leans over and pats his arm.

“Come on, Yura. Let’s get some lunch before the duelling.”

Yuri likes lunch with Lilia. Unlike Yakov, who insists on going back to the castle, Lilia finds the stalls and stands in the tent village as interesting as he does. Sure, the food can be a bit dodgy sometimes, but mostly it’s more varied and interesting than what they get at the castle.

They wander round with their guards for a bit, but there’s plenty of them around anyway, and eventually Lilia dismisses them so that they can got their own lunch. They’re slightly less conspicuous without the entourage, but they’re still easy to spot. Yuri’s still got his hood down, and it’s the first time he’s ever worn his crown on his actual hair. Lilia, too, is wearing her Queen’s circlet. They might not be the only royals, but this is their kingdom and their tournament, and they end up getting lunch for free.

They’re some kind of dumplings, from a stall that Katsuki mentioned yesterday as being Phichitica’s favourite. Yuri thinks that at the very least, the princess has good taste. They continue to wander as they eat, Lilia making sure to speak to the people that need to be spoken to. She’s a true diplomat, and never really takes time off from that. Yuri doesn’t mind too much – it’s good practice.

They run into Lady Ji, and Sara, both of whom are polite, but not very interesting, and move on quickly.

It’s Lilia who spots Otabek first.

“Oh look, Yuri, it’s prince Altin. Didn’t you want to ask him about his bird display?”

“Falconry, Lilia, it’s called falconry,” he corrects for the hundredth time, although doesn’t resist as she drags him over.

“Prince Altin, it’s a pleasure to have you in Rusiki again.” Lilia greets him. He bows, and takes her hand to kiss it. Yuri tries not to blush when he gets the same greeting. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever kissed his hand in his life. Crap, he hopes he washed it.

“It’s a pleasure to be here. I must apologise, Lady Baranovskaya, for my poor attempts at archery this morning. My father very much admires your skill with a bow and arrow, and is disappointed that I do not share either his enthusiasm, nor his tenacity. To prove it in front of such a talented archer is almost an insult.”

Lilia blinks at him. Yuri looks at his gave face and realises he’s serious. He thinks he’s offended them by being bad at archery.

He bursts out laughing.

Lilia gives him a sharp look, but Otabek is smiling. Holy shit, if he smiles more often Yuri is actually going to die.

“It’s true. Both Lilia and I could have beaten every challenger this morning with ease. In everything, I think, expect your falconry display.”

Otabek nods, pleased with the compliment.

“It has been a great passion of mine since a young age. I’m pleased that you share the interest.” He looks between them both, considering. “It was a great honour for me to meet Ariya. Would you and Lady Baranovskaya be willing to visit my hawking tent?”

Yuri looks at Lilia. He really, really wants to go, but she isn’t a falconer. He cannot go unattended, however. Also, Otabek keeps calling her by her maiden name. Which is odd, to say the least. Weirder still is that Lilia doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Of course, we are honoured by such an invitation. Yuri was telling me very enthusiastically about your birds just this morning.”

Yuri tries not to blush, again, when Otabek turns his gaze to him.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the display.” He offers his arm, and Yuri takes it, unsure of what else to do. Shouldn’t he be leading Lilia, not him? “This way.”

 

-

 

Yuri might just be in heaven. The red-footed falcon picks affectionately at the glove he borrowed from Otabek.

He’s a beautiful bird. Smaller than a hawk, more compact, he’s grey all over besides the red flash of his beak and claws.

“I’ve had him since he was about three.”

The bird responds to Otabek’s voice, stretching his wings out and shaking his head.

“Unusually long wings,” Yuri comments, and just catches a glimpse of red tail feathers. Not all grey after all, then.

“Mmm. Timur was supposed to be the one doing the dive this morning, but he was being difficult, so Zhadyra had to do it instead.” He throws a little meat to the shikra. Yuri wonders how on earth Otabek knows whether or not they’re going to do what he asks without being inside their heads.

“We’ve never seen that kind of control in Rusiki,” Lilia comments from just inside the tent flap. She wouldn’t come any closer, preferring to admire the birds from a distance. Unfortunately for her, Kutken has taken a liking to her circlet, and every now and then she has to take a few steps sideways to avoid the eagle’s wings.

“You train your birds differently in the northwest.” The prince confirms, persuading Kutken back to his perch.

“Would you teach me?” Yuri blurts, absolutely desperate to see if he can get Ariya to do this without influencing her.

Otabek levels his steady gaze at him.

“I don’t see why not. However, I’m not sure I have much to teach you. You seem to have a similar level of control over your peregrine.”

Yuri shakes his head.

“It’s influence.”

Lilia coughs, and shuffles her feet. Yuri totally forgot she was there for a moment. Shit.

“Uh... could you maybe... not tell anyone else about that?” He adds, putting a hand up to correct the sit of his crown. Otabek shrugs.

“Of course. But, forgive my ignorance, do you mean you are a mage?”

Yuri blinks at him. 

“Noooo.” He responds, slowly, and is about to try and elaborate when a fanfare sounds in the distance.

“Make haste, Yura.” Lilia prompts. Yuri nods, and lets Otabek take Timur back to his perch.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Thank you, Prince Altin, for extending the invitation. We are both honoured.” Lilia nods, bowing slightly, and Yuri turns to him to add his own thanks.

“Otabek, please.” He corrects them. "I hardly think we may stand on ceremony now that you've met my birds."

Yuri refrains from pointing out that this is, in fact, the most formal conversation he's had with Otabek thus far, although in fairness he doesn't have much to go on. 

“Thank you, Otabek. It was a pleasure.” He bows slightly deeper than perhaps he's used to, but Otabek matches it, unwavering in his politeness. Had he looked up, he would have caught Lilia's eyes slide to him, noting immediately the improvement in his manners. Instead, she keeps the observation carefully to herself. The people that her adopted son respects are precious few, and she is not an interfering woman. 

"The pleasure was all mine." Yuri catches his eye as he straightens, just fast enough to catch the slightest gleam that gives his statement the honesty that usual politeness lacks, before the pokerface is back. 

On the way back to the rink, they hardly talk. It's not necessary; Yuri knows Otabek made an impression. Lilia, whilst not smiling, seems softened. Her forehead is not pinched in her unwavering frown of concentration, leaving him, for the first time in months, to see just how deep her wrinkles have become. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left such lovely comments and taken the time to not just read this story but also to let me know that it's being enjoyed :) It's keeping me going!!


	4. The Final Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one gets pretty gory, so consider yourselves warned! Um... Happy Easter? :P
> 
> Story time! 
> 
> Australians are apparently super into Easter, religious or otherwise, and when I was out writing by the river today, some guy on a speedboat and dressed as the easter bunny rode past and chucked chocolate at the kids. 
> 
> I don't even know, man. Australia is wild. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Lilia, two steps ahead as always, is already slipping gracefully into her seat as Yuri moves around the red curtains that keep the royal box separate from the royals and nobles stands to either side of them. It’s loud, almost cacophonous, and it takes him a minute to adjust to the extra level of background noise, even as the curtain falling closed behind him muffles it to a murmuring undertone.

The stands are fuller than they’ve been at every event so far – including the melee. Yuri turns to point this out to Victor, but he and Katsuki have their heads bent together. Loath as he is to witness it, he’s even more unwilling to interrupt. Resorting to eavesdropping is also out of the question. Over Georgi and Mila’s animated conversation about the ethics of assigning Georgi’s scholar mages to the arena, he can’t hear a thing. Annoying – he’s much more interested in their conversation. He’d be surprised if it were about anything other than the final event. After all, the duelling will be the decider. It’s the most heavily weighted, and despite JJ’s performance in the archery putting him technically ahead, there’s no definitely clear leader at the moment. Nearly any of them could take it, if the tables turn enough in their favour. Yuri is trying not to think too hard about that.

Lilia and Yakov are sitting in silence. Both of them are rigidly upright, their expressions identically sullen. Yakov’s hands, never at rest, grip his armrests. Lilia’s are crossed over her chest. Unable to decide whether their statuesque positions highlights their similarities or differences more, he turns his attention elsewhere.

With no intention of striking up a conversation with any of them, Yuri is left to his own thoughts. It’s not a pleasant place to be. Even as the challengers enter the arena again, there’s not much going on that will actually distract him.

He settles as best he can. The thrones are more designed for comfort than the benches around the edge of the arena, but they have the added downfall of a display of decadence being an important part of their design. He shifts, and gives up trying to sit properly, slumping to one side and lifting his legs over the armrest on the other, nearly touching Mila’s. She gives him a slight shove, but nothing more, too busy saying something along the lines of;

“If we established more benefits for the position of a medicinal mage and tried to eradicate the association with witches it would be a much more popular position!”

Yuri tunes out again, having heard the argument a thousand times before. Mila might be more eloquent than most of the politicians who present the case in court, but it’s not news. Knowing Mila, she probably only brought it up to incense Georgi anyway.

Realising that he’s clutching the arm of his throne so hard his knuckles are white, he lets go, crossing his arms across his chest instead.

He’s slightly more relaxed with his back to Yakov, but he can still see his hand, trimmed with white fox fur, gripping the armrest of the king’s throne. It seems odd, in comparison to the undeniable liver spotting and blue veining of the skin. The white trim seeps the colour from him, the back of his hands appearing greyer than brown. It’s disconcerting - in more than one way. The presence of his father is not helping his mental state.

With JJ just in top spot and Phichitica eliminated, the set-up favours him. The four competitors are drawing straws for the first round, but he will only fight in the second. The stewards stride forward, their brown robes strangely colourless in front of all the regal glory displayed in front of them. Reds, blues, purples, gold and silver and bronze, all inlaid like jewels on the muddied patches of churned soil beneath their feet. The stewards are nearly invisible at the wrong angle, with the sun behind them.

Lilia finally shushes all of her children, and they settle down to watch.

As the challengers are now lined up in order of points, Otabek draws first; blue. Seeing as that doesn’t actually mean anything yet, there’s little more than a polite smattering of applause. Sara is up second, and she also draws blue. That incites more of a reaction. Voices rise about the applause, and fail to fade as the clapping does.

The places are decided without the need for the others to draw.

“A duel between Sara and Otabek will be interesting,” Mila says, breaking the silence in the box as the squires rearrange the arena. Chris and Ji dismount and begin to set up as Sara and Otabek file out to wait their turn.

Yuri hums a noncommittal response, unsure whether she’s addressing him or the world at large. Either way, he is reticent about sharing his opinions.

“If only because their styles seem so opposed.” Katsuki is leaning forward in his seat, his focus intent on the two challengers in the arena. “This, I think, also has potential to be a good fight.”

Yuri is intrigued too – this might just give Chris a chance, if he can beat Ji, and he’s been trailing for the rest of the competition so far. They have yet to see Ji fight, however, and she definitely has a determined streak if her performance so far is anything to go by. She might not have been leading, but she’s definitely holding her own, and her performance so far is nothing to be ashamed of.

Nobody is going to be waltzing easily into the second round.

Traditionally, red fight first. Unfortunately for whoever wins, that also means they face JJ first.

“Ji is a surprise,” Mila leans forward to address Katsuki properly, leaning over Yuri. “Sara says this is only her second tournament, and she’s never qualified for a championship.”

All she gets in response is a conceding tilt of his head. It’s verification, but evidently he has little more to add.

“Well, Chris is exactly the opposite then,” Victor points out, when nobody else replies. “He did years of championships before his first tournament.”

“He’s older though,” Katsuki reminds him. “And he’s used to you being the one to beat. He’s not had much experience fighting new blood.”

“It might be the less dramatic of the two first duels, but it will be interesting,” Yakov weighs in. “Chris is good at doing unexpectedly well late in the competition, and this is a perfect opportunity.”

“They would both have to do a lot to win at this point.” Lilia demurs. Yuri’s inclined to agree – they’re at the bottom of the table already, and whoever wins this one ends up with the worst possible spot to fight in the second round. He doesn’t get a chance to say so, because the bugle sounds.

The first duel is on.

Chris and Ji do not go easy on each other. Chris is more experienced, his aim careful and true, his technique unfailing. Ji is lacking experience, but is much more lively, easily dodging and tiring more slowly, willing to try new things to try and get ahead.

However, they are not evenly matched. Chris is giving Ji a hard time, and she struggles to find a gap in his defence. Their fight is dramatic, though much more defensive than offensive. He lands several knocks on her within the first two minutes. Even though he doesn’t draw blood, her confidence is dented as well as her breastplate.

Even so, the crowd cheers as the swords clash, especially when Chris thinks he’s found his gap, only to be pushed back by Ji’s shield. It nearly knocks him over, and she forces him backwards a few steps with a swift parry. However, her determination seems to focus Chris, and he fakes left, driving her shield away and catching her shoulder.

First blood.

Yuri claps politely along with the others. Victor’s applause is annoyingly enthusiastic.

They both step back and bow, and Ji’s squire helps a mage dress the wound before they go again.

The duelling is always best of three.

Ji wins the second almost by fluke. Now that she’s been hit several times she’s warier, more protective, taking her time to work out Chris’ pattern. It rewards her with a quick slice to the knee.

Neither of them are serious wounds, but they’re both in awkward places. Ji hefts her shield with difficulty now, her movements slower and less precise. Chris is favouring his left leg, and swings more to one side than the other.

The final round seems to start slow. They keep their distance, engaging little, and looking for openings without the energy and tenacity of the first round. They’re parrying a little, not much more than in training, when Ji surprises them all by making a sudden and brutal dodge towards Chris’ open left side, but he blocks it and uses the opening to inexpertly lunge at her ankle.

And just like that, it’s over.

“Not particularly _good_ swordsmanship, but definitely effective.”

It’s fairly tame in comparison to some fights Yuri’s seen at this stage, but their tendency to hold off had fraught the arena with tension, and the crowd is wild with the final result. The two challengers bow to each other, to the royal box, and then retreat to have their wounds seen to.

Yuri has to remind himself to let go of the armrest of the throne again.

“Chris has fought JJ before,” Victor comments, tapping his fingers against his lips, “but I can’t remember who won.”

Thankfully, the arena doesn’t need too much cleaning up.

Sara and Otabek are lining up already. Sara’s armour is surprisingly clean – it’s not new, but it seems to have been little used. The overlapping plates, although deceptively mobile, don’t leave much space to draw blood. Playing it unusually safe, for a tournament, especially as it’s heavy, which means her movements will be slower and she will tire quicker.

Otabek’s, on the other hand, whilst spotlessly clean, shows obvious signs of wear and use. Not unlike Katsuki’s, it covers his chest mostly, with some extra protection on the shoulders and upper legs, but leaves his arms and legs free. From what Yuri understands, it’s designed to be ridden in as well as during on-foot battles. It seems to be partially metal, partially leather. Underneath it, his tunic is the same sky blue as the flag, though his head is covered by a more western style of helm, and his mail emerges from underneath it, covering his neck and the top of his shoulders. It’s an odd look, the marriage of western and eastern looks, but much more like the light armour that Chris and Ji fought in.

“The second one wasn’t so surprising, but he’s been known as the dark horse of the championship ever since. It’s never been made entirely clear who he trained under, either, which is a subject he has failed to pass comment on.” Katsuki is telling Yakov about Altin’s history of Championship wins as they line up and pay their respects. Yuri tries to catch up, having missed the first half of the conversation. 

“He’s perhaps more well known in Assissia and the Americas,” Victor adds, “but I believe he’s spent time in Europia too. It was before his Championship years, though.”

“From what I understand,” Lilia, her voice an unexpected addition to such a conversation, says, “most people believed his training was never intended to be towards competition.”

Katsuki hums his assent.

“I heard that too, amongst other things. It’s not impossible. The past century or so of Assissia’s history have not been kind to his kingdom. They still have trouble with the mongols, despite a peace treaty.”

“Do you lend credence to these rumours?” Yakov, of course, always the politician.

“News from such a distance is always questionable,” Lilia reminds them.

“There are some rumours which, after the first stage, I began to consider more seriously.”

“Such as?” Yakov will always press. Information is a currency he deals in often, and ruthlessly. For once, Yuri’s more curious than embarrassed.

“There were rumours, perhaps as much as a decade ago, that he had been caught in some skirmishes at the border as a young boy, and afterwards was more dedicated to both his training and his studies, which is what took him out of the kingdom so often. I have heard nothing more recent, but he does not fight like he’s used to a casual melee. I would not be surprised if he ran into trouble travelling, and it has affected his style.”

The conversation moves on to the political stability of Assissia. Only half-listening now, Yuri watches as Otabek unsheathes his sword.

It actually has nicks in the blade. He should have either had it fixed or replaced, surely? It doesn’t look like the type of damage to compromise it's strength though, so maybe he just didn’t bother. He seems perfectly comfortable handling it.

Quiet falls again as they wait for the bugle. It allows Yuri a moment to recall their surroundings, his mind pulled back from the other continents but not yet into the fight. Above the crowd’s silence, the absurdly out of place song of a sparrow is unmistakable. It’s immediately covered by the deep, throaty rumble of the horn, and the ringing of steel against steel.

The first round is unbalanced. Sara throws herself into the offense, trying to drive Otabek back, but he defends easily. Confident in her protection, she knows a hit will dent her armour more than her, and she’s not at much risk of being seriously hurt. She’s looking for gaps, trying to create them, but he won’t let her. It goes like this for a while, several minutes even, until Sara starts to tire. It’s not too obvious immediately, but she starts holding off a little more, driving at him less often and with less energy.

Even so, they are almost constantly engaged. He doesn’t start looking for space immediately, just holds her off and defends for as long as possible. They’ve been going for maybe ten minutes when he makes a sudden offense, catching Sara off-guard, and wins his point.

“This looks like it’s going to be a much longer one,” Katsuki says, quietly. It’s unusual, true, but not unheard of. Some duels are over in seconds, due to luck or skill or sometimes injury, but Yuri’s seen several last for more than ten minutes, excluding breaks.

“That’s not a bad technique,” Victor mutters as the mages verify the hit has drawn blood, “But she’s going to change tactics now. I wonder how adaptable he is?”

Yuri doesn’t bother to respond, and Katsuki doesn’t have time to.

They barely break before the second round. Sara’s energy is back, but it’s not offensive now. She’s trying to draw Otabek out, parrying, looking to anticipate that swipe when it comes. It doesn’t. His patience is unyielding, and Yuri can tell that it’s frustrating Sara. She wants to throw herself into it – her fighting style is full of energy, and Otabek won’t allow her to use her best techniques. Yuri can admire that. He wonders if Otabek has fought her before, or someone similar to her.

She’s aiming for his uncovered arms and legs, knowing it will be easier to draw blood, but he knows it too. His shield barely needs to block his body at all, but Sara is utterly failing to take her chance there.

She is a good fighter, but not a tactician. Back in Italita, she probably doesn’t have many people to practice with. Until now, her single-minded training hasn’t been a disadvantage, but she’s still inexperienced. Her stamina is lacking, too – she’s used to short, energetic fights, and Otabek is tiring her out. Surely she must be sweating under that armour by now?

He draws back, and puts the tip of his sword in the ground. She follows suit. They’ll take a short break and resume. Yuri wonders if Otabek is tiring too, if he’s called it instead of Sara, but he’s still holding up better than she is. A splash of mud discolours his tunic, but when he removes his helmet, he doesn’t seem to be sweating too much. Sara, on the other hand, has the worst case of helmet hair that Yuri’s ever seen.

They stretch a little, rolling shoulders and adjusting armour, taking offered water from skins. Otabek tilts his head back as he drinks, the shape of his jaw even more evident at the angle. Yuri wonders, for a fraction of a second, what it would feel like unshaved, before he catches himself and swallows down the nausea. He looks away, anywhere but at the prince.

Desperate for distraction he once again finds his attention drawn to the absurdity of the birdsong filtering through the air. The curtain fluttering closest to him is fraying, the neat wave unravelling into single threads. Small details, he thinks, he will not remember he noticed after his attention is drawn away, but nevertheless define the moment.

They re-engage with renewed energy, and Sara responds to that, throwing herself into it. Otabek actually meets her this time, aiming for an offensive, and then suddenly pulls back. Sara is definitely tired now.

He’s in and out a few times, short sharp bursts of action that get neither of them a hit, but exhaust Sara each time. Despite being in control for the entire duel, it’s more obvious now that she’s unable to fight it. She falls more to the defensive, and Otabek sees it. He takes his chance.

It’s over in moments.

Sara pulls her helmet off before going to shake his hand, a sign of ultimate respect. She’s visibly exhausted, her whole body slumped, but it’s not in shame. In response, Otabek too removes his helmet before he shakes her hand. Yuri is surprised to see him sweating, his teeth still gritted in determination, even though the fight is over now. He’s still wearing the favour.

The crowd are cheering.

The whole thing must have taken nearly twenty minutes. He’s never seen a duel that long in his life, and it really didn’t take more than ten minutes to tire Sara out. Had Otabek been playing it safe? It seemed stupid to fight for longer than absolutely necessary if he was going to have to face JJ now.

He didn’t think Chris would be able to hold JJ off for that long, and Otabek wouldn’t have too long to recover before his own match.

God, this was so stressful.

“Interesting result,” says Yakov, sounding bored. Yuri wants to kill him a little bit.

“He’s certainly a worthy opponent,” agrees Victor, sounding considerably more engaged. “I would love to see him fight our Yurio. Their techniques really couldn’t be more different.”

Yuri tries not to be offended by that.

“They work, don’t they?” He snaps, giving himself away. Victor looks over, and smiles at him.

“Of course, but you see, Otabek adapted to that fight, and Sara didn’t. That’s why she lost. You are not exactly known for being a tactical fighter either.”

He might have a point, but Yuri hates him for it.

“I’m good enough not to need to be,” he sulks.

“I think he’ll be different again with JJ,” Katsuki weighs in, “I’ve never seen him fight two people in exactly the same way. It’s almost like he doesn’t quite have his own style.”

Victor shakes his head.

“If it’s brought him such success, I would say that his greatest strength is his ability to adapt.”

 

-

 

King Leroy is as confident as ever, and he lets everyone know it.

Chris’ knee is bandaged well, and he seems to be putting more weight on it, but he’s still tired. He’s had a longer rest than he expected, but it’s not enough to get him back in his best shape. Even so, he’s enjoying pulling faces at the royal box while JJ struts. Victor is not doing a very good job at keeping a straight face.

The arena is split almost exactly in favour – half of them are chanting for JJ, half of them screaming for Chris. Playing up to it, Chris blows a kiss at the royal box. Yuri rolls his eyes, and doesn’t bother to catch it. Mila gives him a poke.

“Hey, you could at least be polite.”

“Victor could at least have married a fucking woman so that the rest of us aren’t suddenly saddled with producing heirs,” he snaps back.

Mila reels at the venom in his tone. There’s something always bubbling under the surface, but the undercurrent has become a river, washing away all sane thought. What’s going on in the arena is the culmination of everything he never wanted. He feels like a piece of meat, strung up for sale.

“Yuri,” Lilia snaps, but the damage is done. Mila is looking away, her body tilted as far away from him as it’s possible to get. Seething, almost surprised at himself but unable to force down the bitterness, Yuri clamps his jaw shut and lets her sulk. Neither she nor Chris is worth the apology.

His comment could have caused a small riot on the other side of the box, judging by Victor’s expression, but the announcer chooses that moment to signal the start of the fight. Instead, he’s saddled with Katsudon’s furious whispering. The sudden and unexpected bubble of anger already receding, Yuri does his best to listen in, but doesn’t catch much above the roaring of the crowd.

Victor seems to be getting some shit, though, and he grins vindictively. About time he stopped getting his own way all the time.

Chris and JJ fighting isn’t particularly extraordinary. It’s interesting to watch, partly due to Chris’ experience, and partly due to JJ’s flair, but it’s not tense. Unable to discern what exactly it’s lacking, Yuri finds his attention wandering very quickly. He runs through a couple of arguments in his head with his fictionalised version of Yakov, but it doesn’t get him anywhere. Imaginary Yakov is unreasonable and understanding in turns, neither of which have his father’s unwavering loyalty to what he believes is the kingdom’s best interests, and are thus utterly useless as practice dummies. Silently yelling at even a fictional version of his dad in his head helps to siphon off some of the immediate anger though, and his heart rate begins to slow. He risks a glance at Mila, not to apologise, obviously, just to see, but she’s paying more attention to the fight than he is.

Quite honestly, Yuri just doesn’t want to watch. There’s a heaviness in his stomach that he doesn’t think is the dumplings. Somehow, he’d been so set against the idea of getting to this point that he hadn’t actually got his head around to the fact that it was going to. Time is marching swiftly on, dragging him along as a most unwilling rider. Life has been pretty good to him in recent years, despite a rocky start, and the idea of going back to being stuck in a position of which he has absolutely no control is...

Even the best option is going to make him fucking miserable, at this point.

Disliking the direction of his own thoughts, he turns his attention back to Victor’s plight. It’s his own fault for not telling Katsudon about this earlier, after all. The shit-eating grin is wiped off Yuri’s face when he realises Victor’s fiancé is actually about to _walk out_ of the royal box halfway through a fight. Katsudon is already standing, an edge of something to his expression that Yuri hasn’t seen in months. It’s set, like a compass point, straight ahead. His helmet under his arm, he sweeps his hair back from his forehead. Yuri looks up at him as he passes, but that focus allows no peripheral interference. Katsudon doesn’t even look back at Victor, simply vanishing through the curtains without raising his eyes from the middle distance even once.

The rest of them have given up on pretending to watch the actual duel to watch this fight unfold. Katsuki had to walk past the rest of them to get out, after all. Yuri doesn’t think he’s actually seen them argue before, which is actually a hell of a statement. They’ve been living together for the better part of a year, after all. Yakov and Lilia would have killed each other by now.

Victor’s face is whiter than his hair.

“Yuri...”

He goes to stand up, to follow him out, but Yakov stops him. One hand across his chest, not even touching him, is a strength of force Victor has never disobeyed. For half a second, Yuri thinks that his brother might push him away, for the first time in his life, dare to disobey something more than just trivialities to wind Yakov up.

Slowly, he sinks back down.

Yuri feels a bit sick.

Victor’s never had a backbone where it mattered.

He hadn’t actually meant to be heard by Katsuki. It wasn’t entirely true, either – yes, it was a contributing factor to Yakov’s ultimate decision to marry him off instead of having him become a knight, but it was just the event that started the ball rolling. After all, there are men competing. Katsuki is smart enough to figure that one out on his, own... isn’t he?

Yuri glances at Victor, but the prince is steadfastly watching the fight. It’s hard to tell that there’s anything different about him at first, but there’s definitely something wrong. His whole stance is too still, too quiet. He and Katsuki are almost constantly murmuring to each other, almost constantly together full stop. That’s not the strangest thing, though. It takes Yuri a couple of second for him to figure it out. He’s not spent much time with Victor recently, for obvious reasons. It’s stupid how long it takes him, actually.

 _He’s not smiling_.

For the second time that day, Yuri wonders what kind of person he’s becoming. Sure, he’s always been angry, but up until now he’s always had something to direct it at. Now he’s not got a channel for it, it’s flaring up everywhere. He’s not enjoying the consequences much.

He watches the fight, dully. It’s not taking very long – they’re at one each, but Chris is flagging. Sure enough, JJ gets a lunge in, and that’s it.

 _Shit_.

They sit in silence as the ring is cleared. Chris is helped off with a smile and a cheeky wink at the audience.

There are squires running everywhere, but Yuri could swear that one walks up to JJ and relays some kind of message. JJ glances up the royal box for half a second, then nods at the page, who leaves immediately.

Yuri doesn’t have time to puzzle over what the hell that was, because Otabek makes his second entrance. Everything else falls away immediately.

He’s carrying his helmet under one arm, his squire holding his sword and shield. The favour is on full view, of course. Yuri grins, hiding it behind his fist as he leans on the armrest of his throne. Altin strides with an easy gait, but his face is folded in on itself. Yuri would hate to be on the receiving end of that glare. He takes up his position almost immediately, facing across at JJ.

JJ doesn’t get a break now – he’s sweating and breathing heavily, but still smiling. Yuri wonders where Chris hit him. He didn’t see it happen.

Otabek puts his helmet down on the ground, not taking his eyes off his opponent. Reaching up, he undoes Yuri’s favour, allowing his hair to fall over his shoulders. For half a second, Yuri wonders what the hell he’s doing, but when Otabek immediately ties it up again, he realises – he’s _showing off_.

Holy shit, he’s got balls, trying to cow a man like JJ like that.

The thing is, it seems to be working. JJ’s grin is faltering. He puts his helmet on quickly, and his expression becomes a mystery again, but Yuri’s already seen it. Hope blossoms hot and heady in his chest.

Otabek turns to look at the royal box. His expression is flat, carefully under control. Otabek knows exactly how he feels about this, whether or not he’s told him explicitly. A murmur scatters its way around the crowd. He gives him a thumbs up. 

Gripped by the moment, Yuri funnels his hands around his mouth and yells as loud as he can manage.

“Davai!”

He’s not sure whether it made the distance over the sudden roar of the crowd, but Otabek acknowledges it with a tiny nod of his head, and Yuri thinks he got the point.

Otabek replaces his helmet, takes up his sword and shield, and sets his stance.

JJ mirrors him. There has been no handshake, no bow, no show of respect at all. Lilia has noticed. She glances at Yuri, questioningly, but he waves her attention away. He needs to watch this.

True to form, there are no pleasantries in this fight. Even before they begin, they’re edging toward each other. The second the trumpet sounds, they clash. JJ’s known for his flashy style, the flair to his fighting being one of the main reasons for his popularity. For the first twenty seconds or so, he’s showing off, swinging more for show than impact. Evidently, Otabek doesn’t appreciate it much, because JJ has to pull off a few quick, messy dodges to save himself from losing a hand or an ear.

After that, the flair is gone. This is the kind of fight that Sara wanted, Yuri thinks. It’s fast, dirty and brutal. More than that – it’s violent. There’s a distinct difference between a fight for first blood, and a fight to the death. There’s a level of desperation in there. JJ’s fighting to hold off the onslaught, Otabek fighting to do as much damage as possible.

“Holy shit, Yura,” Mila whispers to him, “What did you say to him to make him fight like that?”

Otabek is pushing JJ further and further back across the arena. The king has to pull off an awkward block with his shield to prevent a slash to the face, and there’s a sudden and resounding crack.

The audience gasps as JJ drops his shield with a cry.

Otabek steps back as the mages rush on.

A whisper passes back and forth across the arena. Yakov sits forward and sends one of his heralds across to the King. He comes back half a second later, looking perturbed.

“It’s a broken wrist, sir. JJ refuses to surrender – he’s bleeding, definitely, so first point to Altin, but he wants to go for the second round.”

Yuri refuses to look at his father. This is an unusual situation – usually it would mean an outright win, but if JJ insists on continuing to fight, and he cannot carry a shield, things are getting complicated.

Yakov nods wordlessly, and sends the herald off to Otabek. They converse for perhaps twenty seconds, and then he’s on his way back again, slightly out of breath from his mad dash across the arena.

“He says he’ll fight without a shield, sire. They’ll go sword to sword.”

Yuri lets out a long, low breath. This has never happened before. Sure, it’s a part of their training, but it’s never happened at a tournament. At least, not that he’s heard of. Crap, Katsuki’s going to be pissed that he missed this. He sweeps the audience quickly, hoping to see a glimpse of him elsewhere, but there’s too many people. The majority of the royals and nobles stands are hidden from the royal box anyway, and if he’d stayed by the arena, that was where he’d go.

The mages have finished tending to JJ, and they let him back. Otabek leaves his shield with his squire, and heads towards his opponent. They re-centre themselves, and wait for the trumpet blast.

JJ is holding his empty shield hand carefully, the blood visible to everyone as it seeps through his white bandages. It’s definitely at the wrong angle, which probably means that the bone is severely shattered, especially if it’s broken the skin. The crowd aren’t even trying to be quiet at this point. It’s hard to hear what’s going on in the royal box over the din, but Yakov and Lilia are having some kind of urgent conversation in lowered voices. Even Victor is paying more attention, momentarily distracted from his domestic.

Otabek’s sword is quite large for a single-handed weapon, and now Yuri can see why. Without a shield, he’s free to heft it in both hands. He’s doing so right now, and Yuri winces in anticipation of the difference in power – if JJ’s not careful he’s going to get an arm broken, too. Otabek is not messing around.

The crowd quieten down eventually, as it becomes clear that the trumpeter is waiting for them to do so.

Victor turns to Yuri as the last of the noise dies down.

“Yuri has one of those. The weighting on them is quite unique – you’ll have to ask Altin to show you sometime.”

 _Holy shit. Victor thinks Otabek is going to win_.

Yuri’s heart flutters. Of course, he’s in a much better position at the moment, with JJ as injured as he is, but King Leroy is nothing if not tenacious.

He swallows down the jitters and focuses on the fight at hand.

The horn sounded maybe ten seconds ago, but they have yet to meet. JJ is circling warily, watching the stance of Otabek’s body. He holds his sword out directly in front of him, ready to move in whatever direction JJ advances from. He’s waiting for that to happen, too. Exercising his apparently legendary patience, waiting for JJ to get either bored or frustrated. It’s a tense tactic, but good god, it’s working.

JJ makes a lunge, and Otabek parries, pushing him back and throwing his balance. All of the king’s flair is gone. Otabek has proved that he’s not fighting for blood now, and JJ is not used to real fighting. He’s never been on the front lines, and Yuri is beginning to suspect that Otabek has. It’s more than a little bit disconcerting to be facing somebody who may have killed before. Sympathy, however, is not Yuri’s strong point. As far as he’s concerned, JJ deserves everything that he’s got coming to him.

The King seems to have got the memo now, though. He’s not aiming at the arms or legs, but for the chest and neck. Otabek seems to revel in this. His movements are fast, his reactions ridiculously quick and intelligent, like it’s almost second nature to him to be fighting for his life.

They break, and circle each other again. JJ’s sword is so obviously inferior here, but they’re not allowed to switch weapons. Besides, it looks like he’s adapting to Otabek’s style. He’s taking his time about his offensives, knowing that the prince isn’t going to take the bait, and defending himself almost over-cautiously as soon as he’s instigated something. It’s got them at an impasse, JJ preventing Otabek from making an attack, but also unable to do so himself whilst defending so determinedly.

Suddenly JJ makes a lunge, way out of their established pattern. Even though Otabek dodges with ease, he’s not expecting the follow up. With almost JJ-like flair, he spins almost a full circle, and hits Otabek’s other side full on. Expecting to fend from the other side, Otabek’s sword only barely blocks the swing. It’s too little – it prevents the sword from slicing his lower thigh in half, but it’s one hell of a hit. His leg buckles underneath him and send him down on one knee, leaning on his sword for support.

Yuri has to look away – the cut is right across his leg, and deep. The fabric of his tunic is sliced apart, the blood seeping deep into it already, almost black in its stain.

“Oh my god.” Mile grabs at his hand. Yuri goes to shake her off, but gives up before he can start. Whatever, she’ll have already felt his reaction. His face may be straight, but his hands give him away. He’s sweating, his heart beating as if he’s just come back from a hunt, his fingers shaking. Whether with adrenalin or fear, he’s not sure.

They’ve drawn apart again.

Otabek is limping badly, and no wonder. His whole muscle is probably cut through. The herald is asking him a question, but he looks directly at Yuri and shakes his head.

This is evidently not the type of fight that one retires from. He tries not to let the relief take too much of a hold – Otabek is in no position to be fighting at his best, now. There’s no such thing as an assured winner here.

It’s the most high-stakes third round Yuri’s ever known. He knew that he was going to feel like this, because the rest of his life is on the line here, but he wasn’t expecting to share his sentiments with the rest of the audience. Going to watch a tournament is one thing, but watching two duellers actively trying to kill each other is quite another.

JJ is ready before Otabek is. They’ve wrapped his leg as well, and if it wasn’t so horrific, Yuri would probably laugh at how ridiculous Otabek looks, one leg blue tunic and one leg white bandages. While leaning on his squire, Otabek takes his boot off, and pours blood out of it. It splashes when it hits the grass, creating a slight puddle for a moment before seeping into the soft ground. Somebody in the crowd throws up, and has to be escorted away. There have been a couple of fainters already, and Yuri doesn’t doubt that there’ll be more. Otabek shakes the last few drops out and puts the boot back on, seemingly unbothered. Evidently he doesn’t have a spare pair.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Georgi says, faintly. Yuri knows he’s not squeamish. He’s been a mage for years, he’s seen more than his fair share of blood, and worse. What that statement really means is that Otabek has lost too much blood to be fighting still.

Yuri clamps his mouth shut and crosses his arms over his stomach.

Usually, people dying at Championships or Tournaments is a mistake; being hit in the head during jousting, or trampled by a horse or something. This is different, somehow.

They’re facing each other again.

He wishes that he could see their expressions. JJ might be smiling now, knowing that they’re equally handicapped. Otabek, he knows, wouldn’t be.

They clash with even more ferocity than before. If Otabek’s sparing his leg, it’s not obvious. It definitely should be. He drives almost straight into JJ, swinging with both hands, constantly defying him to find his balance. JJ is parrying as best he can, but Otabek’s deliberately choosing awkward angles, and the repeated strain of the twisting and bracing on his wrist is obviously causing JJ some difficulty. He attempts to dodge, using the change of momentum to swing at Otabek’s head, who ducks and swings under the blade, bending back until he’s almost horizontal. Very few knights will fight with their whole body, but both JJ and Otabek are doing so now. It’s beautiful to watch, in some ways. Yuri’s used to opponents who hide behind their blows, not follow them through.

As Otabek dodges sideways, JJ lands a dodgy hit on him almost by fluke. His helmet is knocked half off by it, and shit, there’s no way he can see through that. Sure enough, Otabek drops underneath JJ’s sword, puts his shoulder to the floor and rolls away. At a safe distance, he throws his helmet off, stands, and advances again. The mail is poor protection compared to solid metal, but it’s evidently good enough for him. He has no intention of letting JJ close enough to do it again.

The sword comes in front again, pushing forward. It’s a step back from the ferocity that he was fighting with before, but it throws JJ’s expectations, and he’s struggling to match the tone. Otabek is still glaring him down, too. His focus is terrifying, his gaze flicking from sword to sword like electricity.

With one deft thrust, Otabek gets his sword in between JJ’s weapon and his body. The crowd hold their breath, but instead of taking the hit, Otabek knocks the sword out of JJ’s hand completely, and, turning into his leading shoulder, uses the momentum from the movement to body slam him into the ground.

JJ lies, winded, his arms spread wide. His sword lands nearly two metres away. Even his helmet has fallen off. Otabek stands above him, holding his sword in one hand.

Yuri leans forward.

Nobody quite knows what the prince is going to do now that he has the king completely at his mercy. They’ve been fighting to kill. Both of them are breathing heavily, and in the silence of the crowd, it’s the only thing Yuri can hear.

Otabek’s wounded leg is shaking. He’s waiting, again. What the hell is he waiting for? He’s got JJ completely defenceless.

JJ gets it before Yuri does. He lets his head fall back on the ground. His eyes are closed. He tilts his head back, exposing his neck.

Yakov hisses. It’s the ultimate sign of surrender – to bare your neck. JJ just gave Otabek permission to kill him. He acknowledged the outcome of the fight as if they were on a battlefield, not in an arena. Yuri wants to cry, but he can’t yet, his heart caught up on the hilt of that sword.

Otabek leans forward, bringing the sword to JJ’s neck.

“Oh god, oh, hell...” Mila whispers, gripping Yuri’s hand tighter. Yuri had forgotten she was there completely. Nobody else makes a sound.

Otabek moves his sword – and makes two small strokes. Then he steps back, leaving JJ with nothing but a small cross on his cheek.

As he walks away, the crowd begins to cheer. Whether with relief or excitement, Yuri has no idea. JJ sits up, putting one hand to his cheek to feel the cut, looking at the slight bleeding almost disbelievingly.

Yuri starts to laugh. It starts as a giggle, but quickly becomes something almost manic.

Mila lets go of his hand, looking worried.

“Yuri? Yuri, are you okay?”

He chokes a little, and gets himself under control.

“Oh my god, Mila, he cut his _face_. That’s going to scar, I swear to god, he’s the best...” He collapses into laughter again.

Mila, suddenly, gets it. She covers her mouth, trying to restrain the giggle, and completely fails. Their laughter is loud enough to draw the attention of both challengers. JJ gives them both the dirtiest look Yuri has ever seen, but Otabek...

Otabek _winks_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otabek's mischievous streak is my favourite head canon. Also, as much as I've tried to stop it, my laptop keeps autocorrecting Otabek to oatcake. I know. Please, if there's a point in this story where it's done that and I've missed it when proofreading, let me know!!


	5. The First Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, last week's update had such an amazingly positive response! I don't even know how to start thanking you guys, but I'm so glad that you're enjoying reading this! Your support means the world to me. I love writing, but taking the time to tell me so eloquently what you love about this story is making it so rewarding. I love you all!
> 
> Also, a lovely friend of mine pointed out that keeping track of the character's names is a bit confusing as they all call each other different things, so I thought I'd do a brief low-down on who calls who what. 
> 
> Seeing as this is (or has been so far) entirely from Yuri P's perspective, he obviously doesn't call himself Yurio. The only time he gets called this is by Victor and Yuuri K. And, because they spell Yuuri K's name Yuri in the sub... yeah, I found out about the whole 'Yuuri or Yuri' spelling discourse AFTER I started writing this. Sorry, it's stuck! Everyone else has taken to calling Yuri. P 'Yura' the rest of the time, because he already had that nickname and Yuuri. K didn't have one. 
> 
> Apart from that, it's pretty simple. If somebody's of a lower status than somebody else or doesn't know them very well, they use their full title. Yuri tends to pick up first names pretty fast, because it's something that Yakov does in court to try and make people feel inferior/at ease (depending on whether they're friend or foe). Not that he realises this, obviously. Nicknames tend to be bestowed by people who are either dating or really close friends. 
> 
> Other interesting points that aren't explicitly mentioned in the story:  
> 1\. Yuri refuses to call Lilia mum as a sign of respect rather than out of defiance.  
> 2\. Victor and Yuuri are the only ones who have stuck to calling Yuri. P Yurio, and in return, he's the only one who gets to call Yuuri. K Katsudon without being yelled at by Victor. 
> 
> Okay done, thanks for reading the super long note! Yeah there's another one at the end. Sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

 

Georgi has always had some kind of sixth sense. It’s not magic, exactly; at least, not in any quantifiable way. It’s just that he always seems to know when he’s needed. When asked how he happened to be there without being called for, he never has a solid answer. He doesn’t seem to be entirely sure himself how he does it, and often doesn’t even realise that he has until it’s pointed out afterwards. The rest of them have been watching him do it for years, to the point where Yuri recognises the signs.

Now, for the first time, Georgi seems to paying real attention to what’s going on in the arena. Yuri’s trying not to watch him too obviously, but he’s worried. Sensitive and overdramatic though his brother might be, he’s one of the youngest mages in living memory for a reason.

There are a lot of mages in the rink right now. Although most of them appear to be assisting the squires, rather than doing anything medical, with their help, the banners and challengers are moving into place at about three times the usual speed. It’s also a lot less ceremonial. Yakov sighs as they mistakenly bring Sara and Ji into the rink at the same time, resulting in some confusion over whose flag is whose.

Yuri isn’t watching. JJ seems to be fine, if tired and somewhat shaken. They helped him onto his horse without much difficulty and he takes his place in line. Otabek, however, seems to be at the centre of some kind of skirmish. Worried about them crowding the mare, Yuri reaches out to her, but she seems calm enough. There’s an arm lying over her neck, a blue tunic splashed with something – he hopes it’s mud. With the mages crowding round, he can’t see anything else of Otabek.

Finally, when the rest of the challengers have been lined up and waiting for a while, they move back.

He does not look well.

Post-fight adrenalin crash in full force, Yuri knows that the pain will be hitting him properly for the first time. It’s not obvious from his expression, but his entire weight is tucked up against his mare’s flank, and he’s almost holding his injured leg off the ground completely. Blood is beginning to stain the white bandages with bright crimson. It spreads even as they watch.

Georgi has begun to twitch.

Even so, the stewards start the ceremony. It’s a little different from the usual tournaments. At this point, they’re supposed to officially recognise the engagement with Yuri. Instead, he stays out of it, an observer for now, and they simply proclaim Otabek as the winner.

He acknowledges the honour with a slight bow.

That’s when it all goes south.

Afterwards, Yuri will jokingly thank him for his perfect timing – now, he nearly screams.

Georgi is one step ahead. Even before Otabek hits the floor, he’s over the barrier and charging across the arena, robes billowing behind him. At any other time, Yuri would tease him for unnecessary dramatics, but not now. Georgi is a mage before he’s anything else. Always.

Yuri’s up and leaning out against the barrier of the box before he even realises what he’s doing. He can’t see much, but Georgi’s shouting instructions, and somebody’s running towards them with a stretcher.

“Sit down, Yura,” Lilia says. It’s a command, but she’s not demanding compliance. She frames it softly, like a suggestion. It’s so unlike her that he simply obeys. As he steps back, Mila reaches out to him. He must be forgiven for earlier.

“Let Georgi do his job,” she says, quietly.

“I wasn’t stopping him,” Yuri snaps, but she doesn’t respond.

The other challengers are ruffled. JJ even steps out of line to watch as they cart the stretcher out of the arena at a half-run, Otabek’s prone form unmoving.

“We’ll finish the presentations,” Yakov starts, but gets no further. Sara’s horse, reacting to the tension and a mage passing unexpectedly close at a run, suddenly rears. Skittering sideways, it almost collides with Otabek’s mare, which a squire is attempting to lead away. She lashes out, landing a hoof on the stallion’s neck and causing it to let out a screaming whinny before prancing back in the other direction. Their hooves thud loud on the soft grass, a reminder of the weight and power of the animals.

“Yuri!” Mila cries, as if he isn’t already trying.

“Shut up!” he snaps back, trying to concentrate.

The influence can’t go any further than his head though. It’s too wild - letting it to like this is only going to make it worse.

The squires are trying to catch the stallion’s bridle whilst avoiding its flailing hooves. Sara can do little more than hang on, her reins dropped and her hands fisted in the horse’s mane.

Yuri tries to drown out the squires yelling and the horses baying and the crowd screaming. Deep breaths do nothing. It’s still sharp, and if he lets it go like this somebody’s going to get hurt. It ricochets around his head, looking for an escape that he can’t give it, only amplifying itself in the process.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he groans, then, “Mila, sorry, quick, I need...”

The second he grabs her hand, it’s gone. Crackling up her arm like an electric shock, it only just reaches her mind. Blunted, the stab of influence fails to penetrate, as it always does. Thank God.

He shivers, released.

“What was that?” She whispers, staring at her hand as if he’s poisoned it or something.

“I can’t calm them,” Yuri hisses, withdrawing his hand and leaving his influence well alone, “because I am _not calm_.”

The rest of them fall silent, watching instead as Sara finally gets her seat back, and then dismounts. The stallion seems to settle somewhat under her careful attention. Otabek’s mare has already been led away, out of the arena. Everybody else is now crowded away from the centre.

Yakov growls, frustrated but resigned.

“Nevermind. We’ll deal with the formalities tonight.”

Standing, he waves a hand to dismiss them, and the remaining squires disband. Before the last flag can fall, Yuri is up and leaving the box.

“Yuri,” Yakov’s voice catches him. He turns with a glare.

“What?”

“Don’t forget your duties tonight.”

That doesn’t even deserve a response. Rolling his eyes once he’s turned away is satisfying though. He retains his dignity for just long enough to get through the curtains, then breaks into a run.

It takes him far too long to find the mage tent. It must be somewhere near the entrance to the arena, but the flow of people is against him, and as he dodges and weaves it’s obvious that the crowd won’t part from him in the same way it does for Lilia.

The damn tent isn’t marked anyway. All of the mages seem to have vanished too, and there’s nobody around to ask now. Taking a corner, he thumps abruptly into somebody coming in the other direction.

“Ugh!”

He stumbles and regains his footing easily, even without the pair of hands that immediately grab his shoulders, as if to steady him. His crown, slightly loose without the hood, does not get off so lucky. It slips off sideways, landing sideways and rolling into a ridiculously muddy puddle.

“Shit,” the other person says, already bending to retrieve it, her voice slightly accented with a familiar twang. “I’m so sorry, your highness.” Fishing the crown out of the dirt, she shakes the worst of the mud off. With nothing else to hand, she starts to wipe it on her tunic. Angry words waiting on Yuri’s tongue dissipate. Too surprised to protest, he simply watches as she ruins a perfectly serviceable fabric.

“I know you,” he blurts instead. She looks up, sharp blue eyes framed by short, black hair, strikingly familiar. “You’re JJ’s missing squire.” She smiles faintly, stooping into a slight bow before returning her attention to his crown.

“Isabella Yang, your majesty. I wish we could have met in better circumstances.” Her voice matches her face. She speaks with the delicacy and poise more characteristic of noblemen than squires. The fact that the first word she said to him was ‘shit’ is more than a little jarring. Brought to a halt so abruptly, he’s still shaken. She seems unperturbed by his silence, handing back his crown with an apologetic smile.

“That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. You might need to wash it before you put it back on.” True enough – there’s still dirt snagged in the sharp corners of the pattern.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” he snaps, and she inclines her head.

“I’m sorry, I was in a rush. I don’t suppose you know where I can find the hospital, do you?”

With a sigh, Yuri waves his hand in the direction of the castle. It’s not helpful of him, but he doesn’t care.

“That way. They’ll have discharged JJ by now though, breaks are easy to fix.”

“Oh, no,” the smile is back, and he can’t help but bristle. She seems to be laughing at him rather than with him. “I was actually looking for Prince Altin.”

There’s not really much he can say to that.

“Huh?” seems to sum up his confusion fairly succinctly.

“One of the mages told me they’d taken him there. He was injured, right?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah. He passed out.” Her expression collapses into concern. She glances towards the castle, brow furrowed. Yuri sighs.

“Come on. I’ll show you.” It’s a grumble, but her small ‘oh’ is pleased. He turns around and heads in the opposite direction. It makes sense that they took him straight to the hospital, but he can’t decide whether that’s a bad omen or not. Did it mean that it wasn’t urgent enough for them to have to treat him in the tent, or did they need more complicated equipment than the medical tent provided?

“You were looking for him too?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, which only makes her laugh.

“It’s nice to meet you at last, you know.” Oh god, she’s a talker. “JJ warned me you were grumpy. He also said you didn’t mean it though.” She strides alongside him easily, matching his pace.

“Don’t I?” somehow it comes out as a growl, only half under his breath. “Why are you looking for Otabek anyway?”

They pass out from between the tents, and Yuri cuts her wide, aiming down the side of the castle. Nobody in their right mind treats diseases in the same places healthy people live. Not when they’re lucky enough to have the money or the means to separate them.

“Oh, he’s a good friend of mine.” That gives Yuri pause. Perhaps Isabella’s propensity to chat won’t be so annoying after all. “He lived in Candis with us for a few years. To train, you know.” Surprised, Yuri stays deliberately quiet, hoping it will encourage her to elaborate. From their interaction at the banquet, Yuri had assumed Otabek had never even met JJ before.

The Americas really aren’t that far away from Rusiki, maybe a week overland and a week over water. That, and the established trade links between the two, means that he’s seen a lot of JJ throughout the years, and the guy definitely hadn’t mentioned other training partners. He did tend to be a bit self-centred. Mind you, Yuri wouldn’t have asked anyway.

“This is the first time I’ve seen him since he left. I’d been hoping to get a chance to speak to him before now, but he’s been... occupied.” She levels her gaze at him, but he remains resolutely silent. Even if it means biting his tongue to do so. Changing tactic, she sighs, delicately, sounding forlorn. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“He didn’t?” Whoops. He can’t even pretend that that’s surprise at any of the rest of her statement, either. Too slow. Damn.

She doesn’t pounce on it though. Actually, she seems genuinely sad. He’s too used to Mila’s gossip, which is always shared to try and get something out of him. Perhaps she’s just.... chatty.

“News from home. It’s always like that when you’re travelling. Especially for as long as he does.”

“Oh,” Yuri’s mind is racing. This is a lot of new information, and he’s struggling to fit it all in to the picture he’s been building up of Otabek over the past few days. “Was that when his sister...”

She turns back to him, blue eyes piercing. Christ, nobody ever relaxes in this place. Why does everything have to be so intense all the time?

“You know about that?” She’s giving him the kind of look that he can’t read. Her facial expression hasn’t changed, but there’s definitely something going on behind her eyes. Perhaps it’s not so much of a stretch that she and Otabek are friends after all.

“Yeah, he told me.”

“When?”

“Last night. At the banquet.”

“Oh.” The sudden flatness to her voice is incredibly disconcerting. “I left early.”

It takes him a moment to figure out what the relevance of that statement is. She tacked it on, almost as if to herself rather than him, otherwise he would have pointed out that she would have no reason to have been part of that conversation anyway.

They walk in silence for a moment, in the shadow of the castle walls. The evening is beginning to pull the sun from the sky, lengthening the darkness across the meadows. The moon is already visible, but its paltry light does nothing to stop the shadows touching as far as the edge of the woodland.

Although the swishing of the meadow grass as they walk sounds like summer, the chill prickles his arms into goosebumps. Pulling the cloak of his hood around to better cover his elbows, he chances a glance at Isabella. She holds her head high and her back straight as she walks, sword swinging at her hip. Her tiny mouth is turned down into a frown.

“ _Don’t you think that’s a little insensitive in front of your squire_ ,” Otabek had said, or something like that. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. Even today, when Mila had wanted to talk to Yakov about her, it hadn’t clicked.

“Wait, are you and JJ...”

“Oh look, this must be it.”

She picks up her pace, striding towards the hospital with such determination that Yuri almost has to run to keep up. They’re still a good distance away, but perhaps not completely out of hearing, and there are several mages around the entranceway, either on their way to or from the castle.

It’s Georgi who spots them first.

“Yuri!” he waves a hand urgently from across the track, and Yuri is properly running now, shouldering his way through crowds of blue robed, faceless people towards his brother.

“How is he?” Yuri’s demanding before he’s even stopped, and Georgi has to catch him to stop him crashing into him.

“Still asleep,” he says, stepping back so that he can actually look at him as he talks, “but at least he’s supposed to be this time.”

“And?” Isabella arrives behind him, out of breath and sounding much more upset that Yuri’s token anger. Before she gets her reply, someone interrupts them.

“Bella!” Of course he has a pet name for her, Jesus. Yuri’s already bristling, and JJ’s only said one word.

“JJ!” She cries, and yeah if that hug didn’t confirm every single one of his suspicions, he’d have to be blind. Even then, the way they said each other’s names would have been a dead giveaway. “Oh, darling, your face! Does it hurt?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Who knew Beka had it in him, eh?” The cross is already scabbed over, and Yuri would be taking a lot more glee in that if Isabella wasn’t gently going over it with her fingers.

“Ugh.” Looking to Georgi for agreement was a mistake. His brother is such a sucker for romance. He’s got one hand on his heart, and tears in his eyes. Yuri looks away, grumbling. Jesus, his family are all fucking insane.

“How’s your wrist?” Isabella is asking, “I would have been there if I could, I heard you did fantastically JJ, I...” He’s shushing her, a hand in her hair. Yuri kind of feels like he’s intruding, but poking Georgi isn’t getting him any more information. Looks like he’s stuck.

“I’m fine, Bella, I’m fine.” He kisses her forehead. Yuri has to pretend not to gag. “I would have fought better, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, they sent a messenger halfway through to tell me what happened...”

Oh fuck, she’s crying.

“Oh, I wish they hadn’t told you until afterwards. It was unfair of the king to put you off like that...”

“Huh?” JJ looks up from where he’s cradling her against his chest as if he’d forgotten anyone else was there. The expression on his face is... uncomfortable. It’s the first time he’s ever seen JJ do anything other than smile. They make a sorry pair, he with his bandages and she with her tears.

“What did my father do?” he demands, temper already rising. Sympathy, especially for JJ, is uncomfortable. Anger is easy.

Isabella wipes her face. For some reason, Yuri was expecting JJ to explain for her, but he stays quiet. Even as Isabella steps away from him, he doesn’t try to hold her back.

“Your father found out about us.” Her hands are crossed at her hips, as if protecting her from having to admit to this. She’s hanging her head slightly. Not from shame, he doesn’t think, but from lack of a reason to be proud. “I’m not a squire anymore.”

Yuri stares at her.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

All of the pity, and he thought that was bad enough (almost insulting, really), is suddenly buried under an avalanche of guilt.

“Isabella,” he grabs her hand, suddenly burning again. “I’m so sorry. That... that was my fault.”

She gives him a curious look.

“Yuri, you were not the one who took it away from me.” He shakes his head. This is something he needs to take responsibility for.

“I told my sister I suspected something about you and JJ.” He admits. To his surprise, she squeezes his hand. Of the two of them, he’s least in need of comforting. He’s had a year to acclimatise to his situation, and she’s had hours. Maybe not even that.

“Did you stand in front of Bella and tell her she wasn’t a knight anymore?” He wasn’t expecting JJ to be the one to speak, especially not to pardon him. Unable to respond, Yuri simply looks at him. It’s like seeing him with new eyes. He hasn’t tolerated JJ since he was about fifteen, but he’s changed. Yeah, he’s still a dick (the banquet proves that), but maybe he’s not as self-centred as he was at seventeen.

Isabella smiles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that he was a lot fatter than you. And older. And a lot more ugly.”

Startled by her teasing, he laughs. It makes then both smile, something he’d never thought he’d be able to do. Isabella is... really something. He looks at JJ again, re-evaluating. Perhaps more has changed in the last five years than he’d allowed for.

“That’s my dad you’re insulting,” he says, only half-scolding.

“I think I’m entitled to be a little pissed about it.” Isabella points out, still smiling. It’s so odd to watch. She should be still crying, surely. Or screaming, even. He would be.

Honestly, Yuri has no idea who this girl is. But she’s the first person, including Otabek, who gets it. _Really_ gets it. Lilia’s on his side, Otabek is the first person to actively offer him anything but pity, and if there’s anything he knows about that, it’s that a single chance is more than he can do for Isabella. He’s a prince, for God’s sake. Even if he doesn’t have control over his own fate, he’s not completely useless.

“We’re going to fix this,” he tells her, eyes blazing. “We’re going to fix this if it kills me.” _You are not going to be like me_. _I’m not going to let him do this_. He hopes that he’s managing to convey quite how serious he is about this. He’s beginning to suspect that Isabella has something to do with JJ’s ‘not as much as a douchebag as he used to be’ development.

Honestly, even if she _was_ an utter bitch, she wouldn’t deserve this. Politics really fucking sucks, sometimes.

“Yuri,” Georgi’s voice almost makes him jump, gentle though he is. Honestly, he’d almost forgotten he was there at all. When he turns around, half of the mages in the entranceway have turned to watch their little scene. That explains his brother’s interruption, anyway. “You can go and see Prince Altin, if you want.”

“Right.” He glances back at Isabella, who gives him a little nod. JJ’s good arm is back around her shoulders, and he’s smiling at Yuri in a way that he hasn’t seen before.

“I’ll join you in a minute,” she says. He turns and follows Georgi’s directions. It’s not a big hospital, just a few rooms beside the entrance, most of which are for patients. They’re not so different from the cells, in all honesty. Georgi’s been trying to brighten them up with a few tapestries here and there, but besides from the bed, the chair and the table, there’s not much in them. The windows don’t have bars, but the layout is the same.

Otabek’s room is even more sparse than the rest. He’s not been there for long enough for it to be marked with his belongings or changes of clothes, or any comforts that relatives might bring. It’s almost depressingly empty. The only other person in the room is...

“What are you doing here?” Yuri stops in the doorway.

“Hi, Yurio.” Katsuki looks up at him, and smiles in greeting. “I’m not sure, actually. I was in with Phichitica when Georgi grabbed me and dragged me over to sit by Prince Altin instead. Apparently everybody else is needed elsewhere.”

That makes sense. The tournament will have increased their usual workload by about tenfold, even by kitchen accidents alone. Feeding so many more people means hiring temporary staff who are much more incompetent. Good practice for the apprentice mages, but a nightmare for Georgi. Espedially when Yakov keeps dragging him away to watch the tournament (although Yuri had, uncharacteristically politely, pretended not to hear that particular argument).

“Did you see the last duel?”

Yuri approaches, slowly.

“Yes. Looks like your winner is asleep though. Perhaps you should wait for him to wake up before you duel him?” Katsudon does that a lot. He doesn’t cope well with tension. He doesn’t make very good jokes either though, so Yuri just ignores him.

“He’s still out?” It’s a stupid question. Even from here he can see that Otabek’s eyes are closed. He perches on the end of the bed in what little space there is beyond his feet. Katsuki’s hogging the only chair anyway.

“For now. He should wake up soon.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

Yuri knows he has a lot to say, but he knows Yuri does too, and he doesn’t want to be the one to start. He’ll probably only make it worse.

When the silence persists, he gives up.

“Will there be Katsudon at the banquet tonight?”

He seems to appreciate the effort, smiling slightly and tilting his head to the side.

“There usually is, if Victor has anything to say about it.”

Yuri knows that’s an opening. It’s an invitation, really.

“Fine,” he snaps, “I’m sorry.”

Yuri looks up, eyes wide with surprise, and bursts out laughing.

“What, pig?” Yuri snaps, crossing his arms and looking resolutely at the wall.

“That was much more my fault than yours.” The laughter dies too quickly, his eyes suddenly downcast again. “I know Victor didn’t tell me what happened, but I should have worked it out for myself.” Yuri tries to interrupt at that, but Katsuki won’t let him. “When I was here for the tournament, you were training to be a knight. When I came back afterwards, you were being set up for an arranged marriage. Only an idiot wouldn’t have realised what had changed.”

“It wasn’t _entirely_ your fault. Or Victor’s even.” He grumbles, “After all, dad was fine with men competing in my tournament.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, nodding at Otabek.

“I’d noticed.”

Yuri shrugs one shoulder, non-committal. Katsudon’s an idiot when he comes to Victor. Everyone knows this. He doesn’t seem offended, anyway.

Katsuki is looking at him again, and Yuri tries desperately to think of a way to fend off the inevitable next question. He fails.

“So what else happened?” He groans. Katsuki just smiles. “You don’t have to tell me, you know. I can ask Victor.”

“Blackmail.” Yuri hisses, quite honestly offended. To his surprise, Katsuki’s eyes are twinkling. “Oh, you bastard, I thought you were being serious.”

“Yurio, really.”

They quieten for a minute. Yuri turns his gaze to Otabek again. He’s still asleep, his slow breathing a heavy weight in the room with them. His hair is still tied up with Yuri’s favour. It held tight for the duration of the fight, but now it’s loose. Strands of hair are sticking to his forehead. He almost holds back, but screw Katsuki. He gently turns Otabek’s sleeping head to one side, untangles the favour as best he can, and reties all the stray bits back in. His fingers brush across Otabek’s forehead, but he’s careful, not wanting to wake him prematurely.

“Alright,” he says, job done, “but only if you tell me about your sister.”

Katsuki is silent for a moment, to the point where Yuri thinks he’s going to refuse. Instead, he heaves a sigh.

“Okay. It’s not much of a story, though.”

“Evidently it’s important.”

He gives that some thought, too.

“To a degree. It might be to you, I suppose. We do things a bit differently, at home.”

“You’re not _that_ far away from Rusiki.” Yuri points out, but Yuri shushes him.

“Distance is irrelevant when there’s an ocean in the way. Anyway, arranged marriages are a given for firstborns, as they are here, and my sister was firstborn.”

Yuri had surmised as much. Well, after Otabek had given him a reason to bother thinking about it, he had. Katsuki had moved to Rusiki without any major political reshuffling, which meant he probably didn’t have too many official duties or responsibilities at home.

“We don’t do tournaments in the same way. Or at all, actually. A good match was simply found, approved of, and they married.”

Yuri doesn’t think that this sounds very different, to be honest. The end result is the same. He keeps his mouth shut.

“She was lucky,” Katsuki continues, “that she and her husband see eye-to-eye. Have you heard of Geisha?”

“No,” Yuri replies honestly, to which Katsuki smiles.

“Didn’t think so. The equivalent here would be mistresses and lovers, but officially recognised. Any children that would be seen as illegitimate here are often considered valuable heirs at home.”

Yuri turns this one over. Personally, that would affect him more if Yakov and Lilia hadn’t raised him as their own son. He wonders if there was another reason Otabek wanted him to know about this. After all, Otabek had had no idea that he wasn’t a perfectly legitimate son last night. He probably still doesn’t – the only ones who will gossip about the colour of his hair are those who have extensive information about his family lineage, i.e. nobody whose opinion matters.

“My sister and her husband both have Geisha. Both of them have children by those Geisha. My sister’s daughter is firstborn, and in line to inherit the throne. There has been some controversy about it, simply because even though this has happened for centuries, people have tended to keep quiet about it. Mari and her husband do not, and have never attempted to.”

Yuri really wonders why this is so important. Katsuki seems to have finished, though. That means it’s his turn. He sighs.

“You know JJ tried to hit on me once?”

Katsuki blinks at him.

“Really?”

“No need to sound so surprised. He’s always treated me more like an object than a person. I didn’t think much of it but he took it personally. Kind of like I’d challenged him, or something.” They had not been good years. “Anyway, I was supposed to be sitting in on a diplomatic discussion of some kind, I don’t even know what it was about. JJ was being an idiot, I told him he could eat my shit, and then some. Turns out it was actually quite an important meeting, and afterwards dad said I was too hot-headed to be a useful knight, and that I’d already caused enough trouble for him.”

Katsuki is staring at him, wide-eyed.

“He’s trying to get rid of you?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Yuri, you’ve been packing for days. Even if you won your duel, you weren’t expecting to stay.”

Yuri shuffles a little. The honesty shit _sucks_. Nobody wants to have to admit that their own father doesn’t know how to deal with them, even as shitty a father as Yakov.

“I may also have threatened to tell everybody that Lilia wasn’t my mother.”

“Oh, Yurio.”

“Look, I know, alright? I was angry. She still loves him, and always has done, and not only has she had to raise two of his lover’s children as if they were her own –“ he stops. Katsuki is staring at him, almost shocked. Yuri swallows the immediate urge to snap.

“Look, I’m just saying, if Victor went and had kids with someone else, would you be able to pretend they were yours?”

Katsuki looks a bit green. Perhaps that was a bit on the nose.

“If it were me, I wouldn’t even be able to pretend that I loved them. Lilia... Lilia has looked after Mila and me for years, since even before mum died, and she was the only who... afterwards...”

He turns away and kicks the wall. Mostly, he misses, and his boots just skin along the flagstones.

“Lilia’s not pretending. I know she basically never smiles and she looks like she’s in severe pain even when she’s in a good mood, but she genuinely gives a shit about us. All of us. You included.” Katsuki opens his mouth but Yuri waves at him, trying to get him to shut up. He’s trying, this is just going to take a while. It’s a lot more complicated than just apologising.

“But she’s miserable, and Yakov thinks of nothing but the kingdom, which is fine, you know, that’s his job, but I think he forgets we’re real people too. She’s the only one who really openly disagreed with him about this whole tournament thing. Until you came along, Victor was exactly the same as Yakov. I know he’s still a dickhead most of the time, but even if he’s going to be a terrible king, at least he won’t be a shitty husband. Or a shitty father, if it comes to it. You’re never going to be saddled with bringing up his dead lover’s kids.”

He doesn’t look up.

God knows he’s not good at this shit, he’s talking in circles rather than managing to say what he actually means, but for some reason a fucking thank you is just too hard. He growls with frustration and kicks the wall again, with actual petulance this time. It stubs his toe, and the pain sings out through his leg like an anchor. Fuck, there’s something wrong with his brain today.

“You know,” Katsuki offers, finally, and Yuri didn’t even realise he’d let the silence stretch, “it wasn’t just the tournament that we argued about. It was just the catalyst.”

 _It’s not your fault._ Yuri knows that’s what he’s trying to say, but really, he already knows that. Fucking none of this is his fault.

“I was never going to be anything but a knight, I’d done nothing but work for it, and he just changes his mind like that? How did he expect me to react?”

Katsuki grabs him, and wrangles him into a hug. Yuri tries to kick his shins, but he’s still wearing his gauntlets and he just stubs his toe.

“Don’t dent those, they were a gift.” Katsuki says petulantly, into his shoulder.

“Let go of me then, pig.” He grumbles, without much venom.

It doesn’t work. Eventually he gives up, and hugs back.

Even Lilia isn’t allowed to do this.

“If I’d known...” He starts to say, but Yuri cuts him off.

“Shut up. You’re lucky enough to be marrying somebody you actually love, you don’t get to say you would change anything when half the nobility on the continent would kill to be you.”

Katsuki lets go. There’s a wondering look in his eyes, and seriously, Yuri can’t believe he’s not worked this out before. He’s so dense.

“I’ve always thought they were a little hostile.”

Yuri rolls his eyes.

“You’re an idiot. It’s impossible to hate you as an actual person, they’re just jealous of you and Victor.”

Katsuki’s cheeks go a little pink. Yuri glares.

“I’m not going to tell him you said that.”

“You’re not gonna tell him I said any of this, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Now piss off, go find him. I think he wants to apologise.”

Katsuki steps away from the bed, allowing Yuri to take the only chair. He flops down, annoyed that he’s been forced to have this conversation.

“Yeah, me too. See you at banquet, Yurio.”

“Whatever, pig. If you really want to apologise to him, just get drunk again.”

“ _Yurio_.”

Half-laughing, half embarrassed, he goes.

Otabek still doesn’t wake up.

Yuri, with little else to do with his brain, worries about the birds. He hopes that the squires know to feed them.

When one of the mages comes back, he abandons to post to go and check. They haven’t, in fact, been fed, and it actually takes a little influence to calm them. They aren’t half as friendly when Otabek isn’t there with him. Kutken nearly takes his finger off. After he’s been properly told off, though, he allows Yuri to stroke him a little. He’s big, and heavy too. There’s raw power in him, even though he can’t take down anything much bigger than a rabbit. He understands why Lilia was scared of them.

It helps, being close to the birds.

He stops back at the hospital, but Otabek’s still asleep. The mages mention that he’s had a few more visitors, but aren’t able to recognise faces. He assumes one of them was Isabella, maybe even JJ.

Yuri decides to sit for a little longer. He has things to do, but not much for a while yet. Besides, he’s not missing. Anyone with half a brain would be able to figure out where he is.

He doesn’t expect Isabella to come back.

She greets him with a bow. Confused by the formality, he stands in response, but stops himself from bowing back. Not out of a lack of respect, but because it might upset her to have to correct him.

“Prince Yuri,” her black hair settles back to framing her face as she stands to address him. “Please forgive the intrusion.” He shrugs one shoulder, half distracted by watching her. She’s dressed for the ball. Her black robe makes her look even paler, the v-neck that runs under her shoulders accentuating her high, shaped cheekbones and bright blue eyes. Her eyes are lined with black, and her lips are painted red too. Her robe is long, stately, falling like a curtain from the neckline. It shouldn’t surprise him that she’s beautiful. JJ’s always had a type.

“Hey, Isabella.” He wishes she hadn’t greeted him so formally. He watched her crying, after all. “What are you doing here?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. Her eyes flick to the bed, and back.

“Archery practice.” She deadpans.

For some reason, the unexpectedness of it startles a laugh out of him. She smiles back, relaxing.

Ignoring the chair, she joins him on the bed.

“Still nothing?”

He shakes his head.

“Stubborn git,” she smiles down at Otabek, as if he could hear her. Yuri grins, unable to stop it bubbling up inside him.

“I’d noticed that,” for some reason, it kind of sounds like boasting, which only serves to make him blush. Fuck. She’s looking at him again, a smirk twitching the corner of her mouth. “Shut up,” he snaps, but she ignores him.

“Oh really? Seems like you guys have really got to know each other in the last... twenty four hours?”

“Oh my god,” he can’t roll his eyes hard enough, but it’s hard not to smile at her teasing. Maybe it had been a bit presumptuous of him, but he already considers Otabek a friend. Two days isn’t much, but it’s better than his track record.

“Telling you about his sister after knowing you for less then a day is... unexpected.” The teasing note is gone. Instead, she seems curious. Her head is tilted on one side, and if she’s trying to see through him. If she’s looking for something special, she’s not going to find it without a sword in his hand.

“Well, that’s the thing. I think he was trying to explain something to me, but I didn’t get it.” She’s smiling again, for some reason. “He said that he didn’t want to marry me, but he also said he’d also be okay with it if he won, in the space of about a minute. Which, again, I don’t understand.”

He sighs. It’s petulant, he knows, but he doesn’t like being ignorant. Isabella knows Otabek well, and honestly, who else has he got to ask? At least she probably won’t give him shit about it.

He’s not used to having to ask for information – Victor volunteers it even when he doesn’t want to know, Georgi and Mila both use him as an impromptu therapist half the time, and that’s basically it. Lilia’s life has always been something he’s just known without ever actually remembering being told, and his grandfather has little to say if it’s not on the subject of food or reindeer. Apart from them, he doesn’t really give a shit.

Which is actually kind of depressing, now he’s thought of it. All of five people that he actually cares enough to know more than the basics about. He can’t even include Katsudon, because it turns out he knows fuck all about him.

“Well,” Isabella rubs her hands against her thighs, and Yuri notices for the first time that she’s got a tiny tan line on her finger where a ring would sit. Thankfully, she’s not looking at him, and doesn’t notice his reaction. “Perhaps I can shed some light on the situation.”

Yuri sighs, and rolls his neck, trying to crack it.

“Look, I have been told a lot of stories recently, and none of them are making any sense to me. Can you not just come straight out and say what you mean?”

Isabella laughs.

“Not really. Why, can you?” Yuri blushes, suddenly reminded of his rambling conversation with Katsudon. Duly admonished, he nods.

“Fair. Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“JJ and Otabek used to be friends,” she starts, “until I fell in love with him.”

“Otabek?” Yuri screws up his nose, trying not to think too hard about her hand on his knee. Isabella rolls her eyes at him.

“No, dummy. JJ.”

That makes a hell of a lot more sense. Wow, his brain is screwed.

“Right. But he’s... here?” He gestures vaguely towards the arena. “Obviously he’s not in love with me, but he was the favourite.”

“Yes.” Her blue eyes, like ice, he was expecting to soften. Instead, she focuses him with a glare like steel. “He does love me back, and I don’t want you to doubt that. Sometimes he loves me more than I think I understand.” Yuri shifts, uncomfortable, and she coughs, drawing back to her subject. Something softens, and he immediately wants her metal back. This is too much like giving up, and he recognises it, and hates her for it and pities her for it, all at once. “Well, you can imagine how well it would go down with his father. I have no title, no good breeding, nothing to recommend me except my talent with a sword. The only reason I got to be a squire at all was sheer chance.”

“But you weren’t allowed to marry him?”

“No, of course not.”

Yuri is thinking, hard.

“Is this why Otabek wanted me to know about Geisha?”

Isabella considers that for a moment. Obviously, she’s either better informed or better travelled than him, because she doesn’t require a definition. Which is odd, conserving that Candis is on the opposite side of Euorpia to Assissia, and Katsuki’s island kingdom is on the southern side of the mainland continent.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know. Honestly, all you need to know is that JJ and Otabek were friends before this tournament.”

Yuri thuds his heels against the chair, but it doesn’t do much. He’s fidgety, agitated. Confused, more than anything. He’s waiting for a string of sense to suddenly emerge, to pull all of this nonsense together. As nice as Isabella is, and as interesting the conversation, he still feels like he’s going around in circles. Like he has for the past year – they thrash out the same points over and over again, without ever actually getting anywhere.

“What happened?” He asks, almost dreading the answer. It’s not inconceivable that they had been friends, he knows, but they acted so hostile. He never would have guessed they’d trained together once, let alone for years.

“You did,” Isabella says shortly, though it’s not blunt, like the punch it hits him as. He’s pretty sure she should hate him more, if he’s her rival. “Otabek has admired you for as long as I can remember, and JJ has always seen you as a challenge, especially since you rejected him.” Yuri is intrigued that she knows about that. Was there any overlap? It was years ago now, but she must have been training with him since she was a child. It’s not even impossible that she was present during some of his visits to Rusiki. “Of course, they both wanted to face you. Properly, in JJ’s case, rather than just sparring. They were both willing to marry you to do it, too. Or, you know, whatever happens if they lost.”

“If I had my way, it would be go home empty handed,” Yuri points out.

“You’ve made that very clear.” Yuri grins to know that news of his reluctance reached as far as her. “Anyway, JJ had already asked me if I would be okay with being his mistress. I didn’t really mind, as long as you were okay with it. The problem was, JJ never asked you.”

“Neither did Otabek,” Yuri says, then reconsiders. “Well, not outright.”

“Otabek doesn’t have a lover.” Isabella points out. “That was his issue. He thought JJ was using me, and that he’d only cause us both pain in the process. I think, by being here, he’s trying to protect us.”

Yuri is very, very lost.

“From what?” He asks, at a loss for anything else to say. Isabella studies him for a second, considering.

“His sister’s husband.”

That one takes a minute.

The thing is, even though it’s obviously not what she actually means, it’s what finally makes sense.

There’s a theme that runs through all of these stories; Otabek’s, Isabella’s and Kastuki’s.

It’s almost like these are the possible outcomes that have been laid out before him. The worst case scenario is that he ends up married to somebody he doesn’t love. He’d joked, mostly, about killing JJ before he’d ever marry him, but it’s much more disturbing when he knows that what happened to Otabek’s sister is very real. Honestly, there’s no way it would get that bad, at least not for him. Isabella would probably make his life easier, in that respect. He thinks that Otabek might be being a little unfair on JJ, especially if they were friends first. Yuri hates the guy, but he knows he’s not vindictive. He’s just a self-absorbed idiot. And Isabella seems to prove that he can be more than that, too.

The best case scenario is something he’d never even considered a possibility – something like Yuri and Victor. That takes the kind of love, and luck, that he just doesn’t have in him. And all of the in-betweens, all of the possible ways people could end of miserable because of this – they’re so much more numerous. Where are all of the positive outcomes? Yakov and Lilia, whose situation is perhaps surprisingly common, and yet always covered up. Even Yuri’s sister, on the much-too-short better end of the scale, has to deal with harassment about it.

It’s always just been about him, but...

He’s not the only one who doesn’t have the power of choice.

He never considered that JJ would be just as unhappy about marrying Yuri as he would be. Isabella’s feelings on the matter go without saying.

“This is such a fucking mess.” Yuri grumbles. “Fuck politics. I don’t know why people could just not kill each other in the first place, and then they wouldn’t have to apologise by selling their children off to each other. Also, if JJ won’t marry you, he’s being as ass. I’m glad Otabek beat him. Maybe he’ll see sense now.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? He’s a king, isn’t he? Who makes the rules around here anyway?”

It’s petulant, he knows, but the useless feeling is back, and he hates this so fucking much.

Maybe that’s why his anger is exploding sideways all the time. There’s nothing to aim towards, no drive towards a right answer or good choice. He can’t even train properly to get it out of his system. Without the prospect of ever being on the throne, or having any affect on his father, his political influence is next to none. Changing the rules is just not an option.

As for himself, he can hardly change the way he feels. Or anyone else, for that matter. If only part of an arranged marriage was to somehow magically fall in love with your partner, and have all of their previous lovers’ feelings completely disappear.

He really hopes that Katsuki realises how lucky he is. And Victor, too, come to that.

“You’ve missed a lot, Beka,” Isabella tells him, grinning, and stands up, patting his immobile shoulder. “Right, Yuri, it was lovely to meet you properly, but you have a ball to go to. Shift up, my turn to watch for signs of life.”

“Aren’t you going?”

“Later,” she gestures at her robe. “I’m not all dressed up for nothing, after all. But I’m ready, and you’re not.”

He concedes this by standing and letting her have the more comfortable spot on the tiny cot bed.

“You owe me a dance now, too.” He says, “I’ll look for you.”

She only smiles at that.

On his way out of the hospital, Yuri wonders how on earth Otabek seems to have drawn a more interesting audience to his room in just a few hours than Yuri’s ever managed in his life.

The entrance way is a lot less crowded than earlier. The sun has properly set, early though it is, and the stars are out. The further he distances himself from the building’s torches, the brighter they shine. Some of the constellations he recognises from Lilia’s lessons, but he wouldn’t be able to name them.

He has duties now; the banquet will be starting soon. Much more time away and Yakov will be pissy. Again.

He drifts back to the castle, half-hoping that a mage will run after him, to tell him that Prince Altin is awake now, will he please come back. Nobody does.

 

-

 

 

“How is granddad?”

“He’s fine, Yura. He always is.”

“And he always tells you to say that. Does he know yet?”

Lilia helps him pull his robe over his head before answering. It’s heavy, and it takes a few goes.

“I wish they’d just make all of them with full corsets,” Lilia grumbles, pulling the ribbons tight. Thanking the stars that it’s exactly the opposite, Yuri breathes out as hard as he can. Having his lungs compressed is bad enough, but having his hips done too would be even more so. He doesn’t know why Victor likes them so much.

“Lilia.”

“He knows. He sends his congratulations, and wishes you the best of luck.”

Lilia is letting him forgo the hood tonight. After all, he’s been wearing it down all day anyway. Although the lightness is strange, his robes look even better without it. For once, he’s not in his tunic. This is supposed to be the night before his fight, after all, so they had special fabric made.

Embroidered flames lick up from his feet to his chest, in red on black, outlined with gold thread. The hanging sleeves curl down to his waist in half-translucent black, leaving his arms bare from the elbow down, and visible right up to his shoulders. The panelling is red, too, and the braided belt gold. It wasn’t intended to match his hair, but he likes that it does.

His sword also hangs at his waist. He has an ornamental belt and scabbard, after all, and they’re gold too, so they fit. It makes him feel better, to have the weight of it hanging at his hip. Lilia doesn’t even comment on it.

“Come, Yura. I’ll braid your hair.”

He shakes his head, enjoying the feeling of it falling around his ears.

“Not tonight.” She studies him for a moment, adjusts the collar, and nods.

The hair stays down.

“I have a question,” he starts, and hesitates.

“You have my permission to ask.”

“In confidence?”

She raises an eyebrow, putting his brushes and tries away.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Right. I just wanted to know what sort of qualifications you need to be able to knight someone. I know it’s usually priests, but Yakov’s done it from time to time, too. I think even Victor did once, in his absence.”

Lilia nods slowly.

“I think, if you remove all of the trimmings, all that’s really necessary is a sword and a title.”

“Any title? Any sword?”

Lilia levels her gaze at him.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but you can’t knight yourself.”

He rolls his eyes at her.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. I would have already tried that, you know.”

She nods slowly.

“Then, I assume what you’re trying to ask if whether you’re qualified to knight somebody. As a member of the royal family, I believe that you are.”

Yuri nods curtly.

He looks down at himself.

“I live for the day we can go back to having normal meals,” he grumbles, but Lilia ignores him, adjusting his corset.

It’s a simple enough outfit, but still more decoration than he’s used to. Carefully shaped, it curves into a shallow v-shaped collar of flames around his neck. His arms are a strange contrast to the deep shades of the robe. He wonders if he should take the hood after all. It’s beautifully embroidered in gold, especially for the occasion. He would want it just to cover his shoulders, but decides he likes them without. Exposed arms are not the usual fashion, and it’s not too cold this time of year. In the banquet hall, especially, it will be warm. He’s always felt like a bit of an idiot wearing a hood indoors anyway, even though several of the girls at court have taken to doing the same.

“I have an idea.”

Lilia says she thinks it’s a bad idea, but she lets him do it anyway. That usually means she was lying.

He fetches his gauntlet, and they head down to the falconry together. Ariya is waiting for him, and he soothes her. She settles happily on his arm.

“Alright. I’m ready.”

Lilia takes his other arm, and they walk down the hall together in silence.

He has to make an entrance tonight, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d rather do it by himself than with JJ (especially now), but the fact that he knows Otabek is supposed to be here with him, not lying comatose in the hospital, makes the idea of walking in alone all the more daunting.

“Do you want me to come in with you instead?”

“No. Somebody’ll get the wrong idea.” He’s teasing, obviously, but Lilia doesn’t smile.

“Hold your head up. Walk with pride. Don’t let them take their eyes off you.” She commands.

Yuri looks down at the flames on his robe. He doesn’t know if Lilia quite realises how appropriate her suggestion of flames was. Maybe she does. She has known him his whole life.

With one hand, she reaches up and adjusts his newly washed and polished crown.

“And don’t miss your cue.”

With that parting advice, she heads down the corridor to the back door, ready to take her place at the head table. He envies her quiet entrance. He keeps a hand in Ariya’s feathers, feeling her heart beating, so fast in comparison to his, even at a moment like this.

The double doors to the hall tower above him. They’re old wood already, having belonged in a different castle before being moved here. Carved into the shapes of demons and dragons, they remind him of all the beasts that he’d been looking forward to facing one day. He misses the excitement, the thrill of battle. Somehow, facing down a hall full of people isn’t quite the same.

It’s still a fight though. He straightens his back, lifts his chin, and looks straight ahead.

As if witnessing the moment he pulls himself together, the fanfare sounds. Somebody starts opening the doors from inside, and suddenly the muffled sound of music is all around him.

It’s a song that he chose himself, one that matches the fire on his robe and in his chest. It rallies him, as he knew it would. He stares down the hallway, waiting for the doors to finish opening. His father, sat at the head of the table, is exactly in front of him.

He’ll do.

Yuri summons all the hatred he can, all the anger he’s been simmering for the past year, and directs it straight at his father.

Their eyes meet.

Yuri walks.

If there are whispers about the absence of Prince Altin, he doesn’t hear them. If there’s surprise expressed that he’s brought a falcon and a sword, he ignores it. He’s supposed to take his time, like he’s displaying himself, as if he’s a prize to be won. Instead, he walks like he’s heading into battle, his step sure and strong. He lets the anger blaze around him, feels it coursing though his veins. Sensing his mood, Ariya flaps her wings, taking off. He lets her, eager to draw attention to her as she swoops once around the room, before landing back on his arm.

He’s just a boy, in a fancy robe, walking down a hall full of people. Does it feel like that? No. It’s an accumulation of all his defiance to his father. He’s a poor imitation of a desirable husband, full of fire and hatred. He’s not demure, and he’s not beautiful; he’s a warrior. Holding his head high, he proves it in the only way left to him. His hair shines in the candlelight, yet another reminder of the parts of him that Yakov has failed to control.

His father’s face is unreadable. His gaze does not waver, and neither does his expression.

Yuri reaches the top table too soon, before the end of the song. This is the part where he bows to his father, then everyone else.

Turning his back on his father, he bows to the room. Ariya’s perch is behind his chair, just as he asked Lilia to place it. He leaves his gauntlet on the floor underneath her, and takes his seat.

The song ends.

There is an empty seat on one side, his father on the other. Ariya caws into the quiet of the hall.

Lilia takes it upon herself to start a conversation with Mila, and thankfully, the whole hall starts to talk once again. Yuri breathes a sigh of relief.

“You made quite an entrance.” Yakov says. Yuri doesn’t bother replying. He’s making sure that Ariya is calm now, with all the noise and people around. She doesn’t seem to mind too much.

Victor and Katsuki are sitting together on the far side of Otabek’s conspicuously empty chair, and they seem to be chatting happily enough. Actually, they’re holding hands under the table. He looks away quickly, before either of them catch him looking. Georgi and Mila are on the far side of Yakov, with Lilia.

Yuri resigns himself to eating his meal in silence, and gets to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note: THIS IS NOT HOW GEISHA WORK. 
> 
> For a start, they're all women. I actually did a fair amount of research for this, but the reality of Geisha kinda sucked. It is possible to 'have' Geisha along with a wife, but unfortunately the Geisha's own feelings about the matter were rarely considered, and any children conceived were most likely either aborted or adopted away from the mother. Most of the time, It. SUCKED. 
> 
> So, this is kind of what I would have preferred to have been the case. This is also why we haven't encountered any latent homophobia besides practical considerations of heirs and stuff (IVF kinda not a thing in medieval times, not even fantasy ones). 
> 
> If you want to know more about Geisha but aren't really a non-fiction person, I would recommend 'Memoirs of a Geisha' by Arthur Golden. It is fictionalised and inaccurate in places (it's written by an American man, not a Japanese Geisha) but he states as much in the notes, and highlights such areas. Also, it's a really, really good book. One of my personal favourites. Recommended!


	6. The Second Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this week happened. 
> 
> There may be more spelling mistakes than usual, I'm trying to move house in the middle of midterms and finding time to edit is just not happening. 
> 
> Please feel free to let me know if I've done anything monumentally idiotic :P
> 
> Enjoy!

The dancing doesn’t quite go to plan. He and Otabek were supposed to open it, but he can hardly dance on his own. Victor and Katsudon do it instead, because of course they do. Nobody in the hall actually minds. They’re far better suited to this kind of thing, anyway. Victor even helped choose the wall hangings. At least he had the presence of mind not to make them purple, but honestly, the artfully draped red satin is so tasteless. Sure, it’s very regal. But Yuri isn’t. Not that Victor will ever give up trying to get him to be ‘better behaved’ (i.e not think for himself), but this is _his_ thing. Technically. The whole shebang should not have fallen to his brother to organise. Yakov, however, would never have trusted Yuri to do it himself.

Bored by the music, decorations and company, Yuri has little to entertain himself with. He keeps an eye on the crowd at all times, looking for a flash of black hair; the only thing that will give him something other to do with his evening than sit and fret and look pretty. Not that he’s not good at that, of course he is. It’s the only thing Victor has never been able to fault him for. It’s just not exactly stimulating.

_Fuck_ , he’s bored.

The dancers have started sweeping out onto the floor, obscuring his view further than a few feet in front of him. Occasionally, he spots somebody he recognises, but mostly they’re just politically affluent nobodies who wouldn’t know an interesting person if they hit them with a sword.

Ariya flutters slightly. Sometimes he forgets how sensitive she can be. That was barely even a fully formed thought, and she felt the venom of it. He withdraws his influence a bit at a time, allowing her to settle naturally. It doesn’t take long – she’s too well trained – and then he has to turn his attention back to the party.

JJ is conspicuous enough, loud and dressed in bright purple (looks like it’s not just Victor who likes to show that one off), but Isabella’s not with him. That makes sense, honestly, but it’s not ideal.

Eventually, she finds him.

“There you are!” She sounds relieved. “I believe I owe you a dance?”

“If you’d make me wait any longer I might have spontaneously combusted out of boredom.”

A quick check over each of her shoulders confirms something for her, because she flashed him a bright smile. It’s... yeah, definitely fake. The amount of teeth is a bit unsettling.

“Nice dress.”

Right. This is going to be one of those interactions. Somewhat disappointed, Yuri plasters on as much of a smile as he can muster. It’s probably more of a grimace, but it’s only really for Isabella’s sake anyway. She’s had more than enough trouble today without him damaging her reputation any more.

“You too.”

That’s apparently all they have to say to one another, because Isabella is offering him her hand. He takes it, withholding a sigh, and follows her to the floor.

And so Isabella is the only one who gets to dance with the notoriously reluctant Prince Yuri that evening, achieving in just a few hours what several of the courtesans have spent years painstakingly failing to do. The look on JJ’s face is utterly priceless, and totally worth it. In her black robe, she could match with anyone she chose to dance with. Ironically, he’s the only other person in the whole room also wearing black.

She’s not a bad dancer, and she doesn’t step on his toes, but she does want to talk. It’s boring stuff, small talk, and he lets her carry it after only a minor protest.

“You were supposed to stave off the boredom,” he starts, but she cuts the complaint short with a sharp turn.

“If you don’t want to hear about the trade routes, my two other safe subjects are court gossip, and local wildlife.”

He doesn’t even bother to respond, so she starts off about the herbal uses of rosehip. Dancing doesn’t require too much of his concentration, but replying to her monotonic monologues on the plant species of Candis is _way_ too much effort.

“I have an idea.” He says at one point, mostly to fill a lull in conversation. Isabella got side-tracked by an anecdote on thistles and momentarily forgot what else she could safely chat about. Yuri had forgotten how many people were capable of talking for literal hours about utter shit. “But it involves getting my father on his own, and that’s difficult at an event like this. Will you stay?”

“Until when?”

“You’ll know.”

They take a few more steps. The couple nearest them dips away, leaving them in almost a clearing of their own. Isabella does a quick check again, not at all surreptitiously. She’d make a terrible spy.

“I only just got here. Beka woke up.” Yuri nearly steps on her. “Sorry, I would have told you earlier but people would have overheard.”

He would have assumed that their gradual gravitation towards the edges was a coincidence, but evidently not. She’s been steering.

“After this dance, I’m going to find somebody to start a conversation with. Cover for me when I leave.” He’d already had half an idea of sneaking out anyway, and having help never hurts. He’s not exactly inconspicuous.

A tiny nod agrees the plan.

“I’m turning into a criminal,” Isabella sighs, more amused than anything.

“Just because I haven’t told you what I’m planning doesn’t mean it’s automatically illegal.”

“You’re sneaking away from your own banquet.” She points out. Yuri carefully doesn’t say that he’s already done it once. “You could be going to steal the crown jewels.”

“No thanks,” he wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought. “They haven’t been washed in centuries.”

They finish the dance smiling, even though the conversation has returned to botany. Yuri thinks that, had the situation been different, they might have been friends.

He really didn’t mean to choose Chris, but he’s stood right there. In the half second before Yuri makes the decision, all he considers is that he already knows Chris, so he’s got an excuse to introduce somebody to him, and he’s easy to get along with so it shouldn’t be too difficult for Isabella for him to leave her alone with him.

From the look JJ is giving him from across the room, he seriously misjudged that.

Isabella doesn’t seem to mind, actually. Chris has charmed the pants off her – thankfully not literally – in seconds.

She steers them both over to one of the other tables, apparently to meet Chris’ squire, and they end up standing right next to the door. Her bright, cheerful laugh has Chris’ whole attention.

Sneaky little shit. There’s no way that was accidental.

He flashes her a quick grin as he vanishes out of the door. Getting Ariya out proves simple enough too (he can’t leave her behind, doesn’t trust anyone to keep a careful enough eye on her). It’s risky, because there’s only the main door and the servants entries, which are closed. Nobody’s going to miss a bird of prey flying in the immediate vicinity, either.

With no other approach available, he risks it. Because he can, and because his arms are kind of important, he has her pick up the gauntlet. From out of sight, he calls her down the hall. Birds of prey are fast, and she’s out in seconds. Rounding the corner she finds him already running, as far ahead of any curious pursuers as he can manage.

Thankfully, nobody seems bothered.

That says a lot about his place in this court, and this society. Nobody seems to notice him sneaking off from feasts held in his honour. If they do, his attendance is obviously not necessary, because nobody calls him back.

By the time he gets to the hospital, he’s slowed to a walk. He’s more than a little out of place in his formal robes and actually wearing his crown this time, and they definitely won’t approve of him bringing Ariya, but he’s not got much of a choice.

Isabella was right.

Otabek is thankfully, finally, awake.

Yuri practically dies of relief in the doorway.

“You look like you’re having a fun evening,” he says, watching Otabek’s face crease in pain as the mage does something to his thigh.

Otabek looks up and gives him a once over.

“Am I late?” There’s no mistaking that tone.

Yuri smiles.

“To your own party, too. That’s a good start.”

The mage finishes whatever she’s doing, and leaves them to it, giving the bird only a cursorily glance of disapproval. Yuri takes that as permission, and lets Ariya off onto the back on the chair.

“They made me do the walk up the hall on my own, so Ariya came with me for moral support. I’m supposed to be dancing with her right now, but it’s not her strong point.”

Otabek smiles at him. Never with his teeth – nothing more than a slight softening. Yuri’s breath stutters all the same.

“Thank you for feeding my birds. They appreciate it.”

“Begrudgingly, I think.”

Yuri, having given the chair to Ariya, has nowhere to sit expect the end of the bed. He arranges his robe, and plonks himself down. Otabek allows it without question.

“I never got to congratulate you,” Yuri huffs, begrudging until the end.

Otabek stays silent, as if expecting more, but the words are lost somewhere between his subconscious and his mouth.

Yuri is watching his hands again. He hates this. _Anger_ is so much easier. Thoughtlessly easy. That’s kind of the problem.

By all rights, he should be pissed. Otabek is the one who’s stripped him of his freedom, even indirectly, and Yuri’s entire being should be rebelling against his existence. When he found out he was awake, he should have shrugged it off. The hospital should have received as much of his presence as it had since he was five, when he’d last been here.

Why isn’t he then?

It makes no sense. His hatred of Yakov is untainted, and his frustration at his situation completely unchanged. The idea of being someone’s husband, even Otabek’s, makes him green about the gills. The image is, unfailingly, tinted red. He’s had nightmares about Yakov literally dragging him to the altar and being held there at sword point, standing next to a faceless being that grabs him and forces him to his knees in front of God. About having his armour and weapons taken away. About sitting on the sidelines for years and years and years as he crumbles, doomed to be forgotten before his life even ends, chained by a social obligation and by bars on the bedroom windows, locks on the doors, a thousand whispered words that hold him inside, always. Hopes and dreams so thoroughly plundered that he forgets them entirely, and becomes nothing but a husk, incapable even of anger.

“I’m sorry, Yuri.” Otabek says.

Yuri’s still staring at his hands, but they’re fuzzy.

Shit, has he been crying?

He jerks his head away immediately, anger at himself fizzing through his veins. It helps, and the tears on the verge of spilling are recalled immediately.

“What for?” He grouses. His voice betrays nothing of his mood, as isolated from his emotions as ever. “At least you’re not JJ.”

Otabek makes a quiet noise, something between amusement and anger. Somehow, it doesn’t affect his voice.

“I shouldn’t have had to save you from him.”

“You didn’t make this happen,” he protests, realising quite how much he understands Isabella’s argument earlier, and wondering if Otabek has the same guilt of association that he does.

They are silent for a moment.

“I asked Katsudon about his sister.” Yuri tries. He has many more questions, but this is the one he understands least. It seems to be an okay moment for it, too – they’re not idly bitching about Chris’ antics like they were at the banquet, after all. Breaking the silence is strange, but he’s never really been one for embarrassment. Well, until recently. “I’m not sure I understand the relevance.”

Otabek reaches out to him. For a minute, Yuri half expects him to take his hand, but he leaves the movement incomplete. It takes him a moment to realise that Otabek’s hand hovering just above his own is a request. He’s not going to touch him unless he allows it.

That’s... strange.

He looks down at the hand, and then up at Otabek. He’s placid, calm as ever. Carefully, Yuri picks his own hand up off the bed and takes the offered peace sign. Otabek’s fingers curl around his like he’s making a promise, solid and firm.

“I think that you should know it’s the same arrangement in my kingdom.” Otabek finally offers, when Yuri’s attention is elsewhere.

He hums in response.

Then it registers what Otabek actually said. When he looks up, it’s to be met with a small smile. It’s not what he was expecting at all.

“Are you trying to persuade me to lose to you?” He’s half teasing, wanting to prolong that smile as long as possible. It softens him, not in the way Isabella’s broken collapse, but a chosen openness, a kind of vulnerability that takes all of Yuri’s anger and draws it out of him until he’s empty. No, not empty. He’s smiling. When did he start smiling?

Otabek shakes his head.

“No. I want this duel to be fair as much as you do. I’m trying to reconcile you to the fact that I might win.”

Yuri laughs out loud, and Otabek chuckles with him.

“Yeah, right, old man.”

“I am two entire years older than you, and apparently that makes me ancient.” Otabek protests.

“I can see your grey hairs already.”

“I didn’t have any before I got here.”

“Are you blaming me for your premature aging?”

Yuri is laughing, really laughing, not long and full and round like he used to, but bright. Happy. Undeniably, laughing. It lasts for a few seconds, but when he looks again, Otabek’s expression has changed. He’s sat up now, leaning away from his pillows. Their hips are practically touching. He closes his eyes, trying to get some clarity.

By the time he looks up, however, the softness is withdrawn, and they’re back on the bottom rungs of the rollercoaster.

“Yuri. Were you listening when I told you about my sister?” Of course he was listening, Christ, how could he not? He just wishes people would out and say things, it makes it so complicated when they don’t just say what they mean... “I could never do to you what her husband did to her, regardless of the outcome of the duel.”

_Oh_. Yuri stares at him, unable to formulate words. Isabella was right. Taking this as continued confusion, Otabek elaborates.

“I am used to travelling. I haven’t lived in my parent’s castle for years. Although I am proud of my kingdom and wish to bring honour to my family, I have no intention of returning.”

_Oh._

“I want to be able to give you that choice; to stay or to go, to be friends or strangers. This is your life, too.”

Yuri’s eyes are stinging. Ariya shuffles. Turning, he focuses on her instead. Her claws are leaving marks on the wood as she sidesteps up and down the wood. Bored or agitated, he can’t tell, but he can’t influence her to find out. He’s unstable, and an unstable bird of prey loose in a small space is a Bad Idea. Even so, he reaches out to her with one hand, and she calms. It’s not the same, but to her, the presence isn’t dissimilar. His hand is as much a part of him as his mind.

“What about...” he can’t finish the sentence through the block in his throat. Otabek waits, patient as ever. “Heir?” He finally manages.

“I have a younger sister. I believe that here, you call it abdicating.”

This. This is why he couldn’t be angry.

Otabek gets it. No, obviously he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be completely stripped of everything that you thought defined you, but he gets Yuri’s priorities. Victor was the best knight on the continent, possibly even in the world, before he was married off, and now he does nothing. It’s not just because Katsuki makes him happier than duelling ever did, it’s because it’s no longer expected of him. Knighthood was as much part of his duty as marriage was.

Yuri’s pretty sure he’d abdicate too, if the responsibility of being heir ever fell to him. Victor would never get that. Yakov’s influence is too strong. Even Katsuki, should his sister be unfortunate enough to die before her children were of age, would return home without question, and probably leave Victor in Rusiki.

Yuri could never do that, either.

One of the reasons (and there are many) that he hates being a prince is because he just doesn’t get it. Yakov says it’s selfishness, Lilia says he’s still too young to understand, but the kingdom does not come first. It never has, and he suspects it never will. They are both wrong, to some degree. Yes, he would abandon his duty for his own sake, should it come to it, but there are things that would also make him stay. Things more important than his personal happiness: his grandfather; his siblings; Lilia. They’d never be able to persuade him to stay for honour alone, but if they were threatened, for their sake, he would stay. There are things that are important, but they aren’t abstract ideas of power and control. They are people. Somebody had instilled that deep within his skin before Yakov had been able to get to him.

Privately, Yuri thinks it was probably his mother. For Otabek, he wonders whether it was his sister.

He’s calmer now. The quietness of the room is somewhat isolated, but beyond the door there’s the unmistakeable hum of activity in the hospital. Beyond that, the castle, the music and chatter of the ballroom reduced to a hum just on the edge of his hearing. Outside, he can imagine the wind blowing over the tops of the trees, the same breeze fluttering the canvas covers of the tents forgotten by the arena.

Silence seems to be less uncomfortable with Otabek. They sit through several more minutes of it, contentedly, until Ariya calls.

Yuri had been enjoying the emptiness of his mind, the strange calm as he slowly dispelled as many of the nightmare images as he could.

Her call interrupts his task, but he doesn’t mind. He’s got time to unwind that pleasant thought. He wants to do it fully before he attempts to contemplate the changing shape of his future.

“You never did tell me what influencing is.” Otabek says, as if also stirred by the falcon.

Yuri gives that some thought as the tendrils of silence relinquish their grip. A mage walks past the door, voice raised and seeping into the room.

“Difficult, supposedly.” Ariya fluffs herself up as he edges his influence on her. It feels different, he knows. She’s been dealing with his supressed anger for months. It’s still him, though, and she settles into it easily enough. “It can be taught as a school of magic, but mostly you’re either born with it or you aren’t. Georgi got nearly all of the magic in the family, except this.”

Ariya hops from the chair, to the bed, to the chair again. When Yuri releases her, she gives him a reproachful look.

“Sorry Ariya. I’ll stop showing off.” He says, picking up his gauntlet from the bed so that she can come closer.

“You made her do that?”

“I asked her to. I don’t force her to do anything. She was pissed with me for that because she thought it was pointless.” Nevertheless, when he holds his arm out, she comes to him, happy enough to nibble at his fingers. Otabek is watching her with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “It works on most animals. I don’t get much of a chance to use it because people get upset if you do it too often to their pets, but I can ride any horse and fly any bird without issue.”

“Does it affect humans?” He’s curious. Yuri can’t blame him. He always has been, too. He smiles.

“No. Not for me, anyway. Georgi says that if people are willing to let you in, then it can do, but it’s never worked on anyone who’s let me try.”

“Perhaps they’re not completely willing.”

Yuri hums in response, listening to Ariya’s mind. She wants to fly, but it’s not urgent. He’ll let her go before he takes her home.

“Why are you here, Yuri?” Otabek asks quietly. “You should be at the banquet, or preparing for tomorrow.”

Yuri blinks, his attention finally away from the bird. She flutters, his withdrawal too quick. He strokes her feathers, apologising.

“Why? I have nothing to do tomorrow.”

Otabek gestures at his robe.

“This is your robe for the banquet before we fight, isn’t it?”

Yuri stares at him, speechless, for several seconds.

“I’m not fighting you like _this,_ you moron.”

He’s not sure quite what he means. In Otabek’s physical state, yes, but there’s something else. He’s been so sure on what he wants the outcome of this fight to be for so long but...

“Why not? You don’t want to marry me.”

...he’s not sure anymore.

He turns back to Ariya, unable to keep Otabek’s steady gaze. It feels unfaithful.

“You’ve come all the way here just for this. I refuse to let it be an unfair match.”

He wonders if Otabek will argue the point. Ariya is restless now, and that’s his fault.

Instead, Otabek’s hand finds his again. There’s no question this time. He squeezes, gently.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

Yuri looks down at his lap, and tries not to blush.

What the hell is wrong with him?

 

-

 

“That’s the second time you’ve bunked off a banquet in two days,” Katsuki prods him. Yuri flaps him away.

It’s weird, seeing him in robes. He sticks out like a sore thumb most of the time, wearing what he does, and the one time he’s at an event where there are people from all over the world, he wears robes. Robes that match Victor’s no less. No wonder he looks so uncomfortable.

“You’re drunk, pig. Go find someone else to bother.”

Katsuki _pouts._ Honestly, Yuri has no idea what Victor sees in this man, he’s such a nuisance.

“But Victor’s dancing with someone else, and you’re the only other person here who doesn’t pretend to like me when you don’t.”

Yuri blinks. That’s a strangely astute assessment for someone both socially inept and inebriated.

“I am?”

“You pretend not to like me when you do.”

Wow, okay, maybe not.

“You know what? I would actually rather talk to my father than to you.”

It’s meant as an insult, but Katsuki, the ass that he is, completely misses it.

“Oh, okay, look he’s right there YAKOV. YAKOV YOUR SON WANTS YOU.”

Yuri nearly dies.

Technically, he did want his father’s attention, but he was hoping to do it more subtly.

The small circle of people around his father thoughtfully peel themselves away, and Yakov is left with no option but to approach his least favourite son and his only son-in-law.

“Yes, Yuri?”

Yuri resists the urge to snap, and searches for something to say.

“He wants to talk to you,” says Katsuki, oh-so-helpfully, and wanders away to find Victor. Yuri makes a personal note to never allow him near alcohol ever again.

Yakov looks down at him, and does not deign to sit. Yuri stretches himself out, cat-like, and puts his feet up on the royal table.

“Is this about the fight tomorrow?” Yakov barks, glaring at Yuri’s feet.

“Yeah, about that.” Yuri yawns. “Can’t do it. Sorry, not happening.”

The mixture of reactions that his statement gets is hilarious.

“Are you... are you saying you’ll marry him?”

“Oh yeah sure, why not?” He laughs, humourlessly. “No of course not, you dipshit, Jesus, it’s like you haven’t heard a single thing I’ve ever said to you.” Yakov is practically vibrating. Yuri watches with detached interest.

“Well, what then?” He demands.

Ariya lands on the table. She nearly knocks a glass over, and Yuri makes no attempt to catch it. It’s a shame it doesn’t smash.

“He’s injured, dad. I’m not going to fight him like that, it’s unfair. My honour prevents me from doing so.”

Yakov bites back his retort. It’s evident on his face exactly what he’s thinking as he cycles through his options. Pointing out that Yuri’s honour is a new concept would prevent him then acquiescing that Otabek is more likely to win, and thus marry Yuri, if he’s allowed to recover.

He turns to the hall. It’s still early in the night, despite the fact that Yuri feels like it’s been going on for days, and nobody’s gone to bed yet.

He turns back.

“Get up. You’re making the announcement. It’s about time you practiced your public speaking.”

It’s not the reaction that Yuri was expecting, but it’ll do the job.

He removes himself from the chair and joins his father in front of the table. Ariya lands on his arm of her own accord. He loves her even more for that, if that was even possible. Her weight is comforting, if a little straining on his arm.

At a nod from the king, the musicians stop playing. Spotting the two of them stood at the front, the rest of the room gradually quieten, listening.

“Prince Yuri has an announcement to make.”

That’s it, that’s the entirety of the introduction that he gets. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Yuri steps forward, and raises his voice.

“I have just been to assess Prince Altin’s condition. It appears that he is quite severely injured, and as such, I no longer intend to fight him tomorrow.” A murmur goes around the crowd, but Yuri speaks over it. “Do not mistake me – we will fight. But we will do so fairly and honourably, when he has fully recovered. In the meantime, I offer him and his friends our full hospitality, in the hope that he makes a full and speedy recovery. Once again, I offer my congratulations to all the challengers in my tournament. I am greatly honoured by your presence and your efforts.”

That sounded official and generous enough, he thinks, considering he made it up on the spot. He looks for Lilia and finds her smiling. Victor, too, seems pleased with this decision and his handling of it. It’s only Yakov who’s pissed at having his castle invaded for longer than he anticipated.

Well, he’s about to get a whole lot more pissed.

Yuri clears his throat as conversation rises, drawing attention back to himself.

“If I could have your attention for just one more moment.”

Isabella hasn’t moved since he left. She and Chris and a few others are standing in a circle by the door. Needing both hands, Yuri shunts Ariya off and removes his gauntlet, dropping it on the table behind him.

Oh, hell, he’s going to be in so much shit for this.

“My attention has been drawn to an unfortunate situation.” He coughs a little into his hand as somebody tries to start talking. They shut up immediately.

“ _Thank you_." He snaps, and a ripple of nervous laughter follows the silenced speakers. "As I was saying, a situation has arisen which has made several people unhappy, or worse off than before, and I am sorry to admit that I played a part, however involuntarily, in causing this situation to come to be. Therefore, I would like to do whatever is within my power to fix it.”

If they were at the arena, there would be definite murmuring. Thankfully, the company assembled here are a little more polite.

“Isabella Yang of Candis,” he had had to ask her what her surname was again, dammit, he’s going to bloody use it.

Yakov’s head snaps to look at him.

Oh hell yeah, he’s doing this.

“You are invited to kneel before me.”

Her approach is slow, the level of grace and sedate elegance everything that Yakov had wanted from Yuri’s entrance, and everything that he’s incapable of. He wishes he’d researched this better, or paid more attention when he’d been to the ceremonies. This is an important moment for her. For both of them, actually. He really, really doesn’t want to screw up.

She reaches him, where he stands a little raised on the platform on the royal table. She bends her knee, crossing her arm across her chest and her head bent towards the ground.

“Your highness,” she says, and nothing more.

Yuri draws his sword, and rests it on one of her shoulders.

“By the power of the crown, invested in me by birth and descent,” _wow, that sounds awful_ , he thinks, and raises his voice, trying to project confidence and authority, “I hereby officially recognise your courage, dedication and skill displayed in pursuit of the protection of your kingdom and royal family.” He passes the sword carefully over her head, to tap her other shoulder. “In further recognition of your worth, I grant you the title Lady Yang, in the hopes that your legacy will continued to be recognised throughout the years, and your family will continue to strengthen our ranks with their intelligence, loyalty and efficiency.”

He’s totally bullshitting this. In fairness, the knighting is unorthodox enough, but he thinks he might be the first person to grant someone the title of nobility along with a knighthood – well, ever. There’s definite whispering now. Whatever. Sometimes, the best way to solve an issue is to stamp right through social convention and flick his middle finger at everyone who disagrees in the process.

“In the sight of God and the assembled party, you may now rise, Lady Yang.”

She stands, and even though she’d probably guessed what he was going to do, her eyes are brimming with tears. He sheaths his sword and holds out his hand for her to shake.

She pulls him into a lung-crushing hug. Yuri thinks he’s been hugged more today than he has in the rest of his life combined. Somebody starts clapping, and everybody joins in. Finally, she lets him go.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Yuri blinks.

“Um. You’re welcome. Also... you might want to turn around?”

The crowd that had parted to allow her to pass have done so again.

Of all people, JJ now stands in the centre of the room.

The seconds stretch out as they simply stare at each other.

Yuri, sensing that something fairly dramatic is about to happen, gets the hell out of the way.

Sure enough, JJ goes down on one knee.

Somebody gasps, but really, Yuri isn’t as surprised as he should be. Isabella seemed pretty convinced that JJ really did love her, and the only thing standing between them has just been very effectively removed.

She’s been granted a title by royalty. There’s no denying that. JJ’s never exactly been one for wasting time, either.

Yuri’s expecting speeches, more pledges of undying loyalty, protection, etc etc.

Instead, JJ simply says;

“Lady Yang. I love you. Please do me the honour of becoming my Queen.”

She’s holding her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.

Holy shit, they might even be a more dramatic couple than Victor and Yuri.

Of course she says yes, and of course they kiss and hug in the middle of the goddamn banquet hall, and of course everybody’s really enthusiastic about it, as if they aren’t being utterly disgusting in every way.

Yuri sighs, and wonders whether the business of making friends is really worth it if this is what he has to suffer as repayment.

The party, obviously, goes on for a lot longer than it’s supposed to.

Yuri vanishes into the crowd it as soon as people start mingling again, knowing that Yakov will be after him, and not even his sword is going to protect him against that wrath.

Yeah, he sucks as a prince, but only at Yakov’s idea of being a prince.

Isabella and JJ seem quite happy about his methods.


	7. Reflection

The dancing goes on for hours, but Yuri is unwilling to join in. When Yakov is suitably busy, he escapes the throng and puts a much more acceptable distance between himself and the rest of the guests. Katsuki and Victor both come past at some point, but don’t succeed in engaging him in conversation. Even JJ comes to offer his thanks.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Yuri spits, grumpily. JJ just beams back, utterly unperturbed, as usual.

“I know, and I don’t care. Thank you, Yuri, for doing so much for our happiness.”

A huff sends him way .

Everybody else leaves him alone. Lilia is keeping Yakov busy, sending dance partners in his direction with a regularity that means he doesn’t have time to berate Yuri. It’s unlikely to be the reason she’s doing it, but he appreciates the break all the same. At one point she even dances with him herself, which Yuri hasn’t seen them do for years.

He’s looking for an excuse to leave, but when it comes, he immediately wishes it hadn’t.

If anyone had been looking, it would have seemed innocuous enough. A messenger had approached Yuri, and after a brief conversation, they left together in much haste.

The perspective would have completely have missed the note of panic, lying unconcealed in Yuri’s voice, the fact that he nearly tripped getting to his feet in such a hurry, and the heavy beating of his heart, like a lead weight, in his chest.

All of these things he suffers as he runs, his wide step fuelled by adrenaline and long outstripping the messenger.

Yuri throws open the door to the hospital room so hard that it slams behind him.

“I swear to god, I leave you alone for _one hour_.”

He didn’t mean to yell, but it seems to be happening anyway. Georgi and Otabek are both looking at him in shock, frozen exactly as they were when he walked in.

Yuri’s a mess.

He ran all the way from the hall, still in his heavy formal robes, hot and sweaty and smelling slightly of beer. The shortcut through the edge of the woodland had been haphazard, and he’s got leaves in his hair. He didn’t even bother to pick them out. His legs are shaking, and he’s utterly failing to hide it.

“I sat with you for hours waiting for you wake up, and this is what you do as soon as I leave?” It’s not even a real shout, because the words are coming out hoarse.

“Yura?” Georgi tires, and Yuri turns on him.

“What?”

“Could you possibly... not brandish your sword like that?” Yuri looks at the sword he’s holding. He’s not entirely sure how it got there. It was definitely in its scabbard when he left the hall. Otabek looks at him, then the sword, and back again.

“Yuri,” he starts, but Yuri cuts him off.

“No. Nope. No. Shut up. I don’t want to talk to you.” He drops the sword with a loud clatter, marches over to the bed, and flops over. His head hits the covers just as his knees hit the floor. “Fuck this.” He says vehemently into the sheet.

“Yura,” Otabek tries again, completely failing to hide the warmth of amusement in his tone, “it’s really not that bad.” He reaches down, and starts to pick the leaves out of his hair, one by one. Yuri continues to grumble incoherently into the covers. Then he turns his head to fix Otabek with a glare. He’s still breathing heavily with the exertion of it after a whole day’s riding.

“I was half expecting to find you dead, you asshole. You made me run. All the way from the castle. I hate you.”

Otabek actually laughs at him, the bastard. He moves his hand to touch Yuri’s face, as if reassuring him that is, actually, completely fine. It helps, somewhat. He closes his eyes and breathes more easily. Otabek can definitely feel him trembling, but Yuri’s not even got enough energy left to be embarrassed.

Georgi coughs, gently.

“Anyway. As I was saying – now that we’ve found that and removed it, your recovery should be twice as fast.”

“Good,” says Yuri, his eyes still closed. “Next time I leave this room, you’re coming with me.”

Georgi finishes his tests in silence. Mostly it just involves waving his hands, and occasionally poking the healing scar on Otabek’s thigh. When he’s done, he stands up, and nods to Otabek.

“I’ll leave you to it. Three more days of bed rest, and then you should be good to go. You may even be able to ride in a few weeks.”

A quick glance at his younger half-brother seems to find him asleep. Otabek’s hand is gently smoothing his hair over his head, and his breathing is deep and slow.

“Don’t be put off by the anger. It means he cares.” He says, softly, and Otabek looks down at the young man curled against the end of the bed.

“I know.” He says, equally gentle.

Yuri cracks open an eye.

“Fuck off, both of you.”

Georgi leaves laughing.

 

-

 

Yuri doesn’t go back to his room.

Thankfully, Lilia had suspected that he might not.

They’re both asleep when she turns up an hour or so later, both in equally awkward positions. Yuri is still on the floor, his head tipped sideways onto the bed, his breathing deep and even. Otabek’s leaning up against his pillows, his head slumped on his shoulder, his hand still in Yuri’s hair.

“Yura,” a quick whisper and a shake wakes him up gently, and he stays quiet when she puts a finger to her lips.

It takes a fair bit of effort to drag him away, if only because he’s still exhausted, but they manage to leave Otabek sleeping. Had Yuri been more awake she probably wouldn’t have managed it at all. The sword is removed too, much to the relief of the mages.

By the time Yuri gets back, slightly more lively after being forced to wash and change, Otabek is awake and standing again. They had to cut his trousers to get at the wound, but for some reason they haven’t brought him a new pair yet, and he’s standing against the wall with one full-length trouser and one leg almost completely exposed but for the bandage.

“That’s an interesting look,” Yuri deadpans. The only response he gets is a yawn. It’s dark outside, the kind of cloudy night that means there’s no moonlight, and consequently it feels much later than it really is. “Why are you up again? You should be resting.”

“They just changed the sheets. We got blood on them.”

“Ah, shit. That bad?” Otabek blinks at him, still bleary-eyed.

“Georgi had to open the wound to get the infection out. I didn’t intend to bleed but it’s quite hard not to when somebody puts a hole in your leg.” Yuri can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. Otabek sways slightly, and puts his hand out to catch himself.

“Whoah, you are not okay,” Yuri crosses the room in two strides, and shunts his arm under Otabek’s shoulders. He’s heavy, draped across him without really attempting got hold his own weight. Doing his best to balance them, Yuri helps him back down onto the bed.

“I am okay. Georgi said this would happen. I meant to warn you earlier but you fell asleep.”

Yuri does his level best to let go carefully, but Otabek slips off his shoulders all in one go. He keels over, landing sideways on the sheets and half-propped against the head of the bed. There’s a tiny thud as his shoulder hits the wall. Blinking down at the man who apparently now has as much control over his own body as a fish on a boat, Yuri makes his own mind up about that statement.

“GEORGI! GEORGI!”

“Don’t shout, Yura.” Holy shit, when did he start calling him that? Yuri has so many nicknames he doesn’t notice them half the time. This one might not even have been intentional. Otabek’s slurring. “It’s just a fever. It will pass.” He closes his eyes. Yuri taps him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t move.

“Hey, dumbass. You can’t sleep like that.” No response. All right, he’ll do it himself. Wrapping both arms around his back, Yuri attempts to shuffle him downwards, but Otabek rolls in his arms and tilts towards the side when he tries to lift him. It’s like trying to carry an exceptionally heavy training dummy – one of the ones with rotating limbs. The only way he can get him away from the wall is to lift him almost bodily, but Otabek hisses in pain when he tries to get him to bend his leg.

“GEORGI!” He yells again, lost for what to do.

“Don’t shout in my ear, Yura, please.” Otabek protests, head lolling.

“I do what I want,” Yuri grumbles, only half-heartedly. “Look, can you put your arms around me?”

Otabek blinks up at him, the reaches for his neck. With one arm around his back, and one holding his injured leg straight, Yuri just about manages to lift Otabek down without tipping him. When he’s finally lying flat, Georgi appears.

“Yuri? Is he okay?”

“Does he fucking look okay?”

Otabek hasn’t let go. Yuri tries to prise him away, but he only grips harder. Not quite knowing what to do with his hands, he holds them out to Georgi in an imploring motion. His half-brother ignores him completely, and goes to the other side of the bed.

“Ah, he’s reacting to the magic.”

“It feels very strange,” Otabek says, to the general astonishment of absolutely nobody. There is nothing weirder than having magic in your system.

“Do you think you could possibly let go of me?” Not that Yuri’s complaining but his back is bent over in a very awkward position and if he doesn’t move soon it’s going to become painful. Otabek is looking at him still, but all the focus is gone. His eyes wander over Yuri’s face, sliding sideways instead of holding his gaze.

“Will you stay?” His voice is lacking that base line that Yuri is used to. He no longer sounds so firm and sure of himself, like he usually does, as if every word is calculated before it leaves his mouth. Gone, too, is the flatness, the strange tonelessness that Yuri hadn’t even noticed until now. It’s replaced by something more musical, a lilt that suits his soft, quiet speech like the unexpected smiles suit his face.

“Of course.”

He lets go. Yuri steps back with a sigh, but as he moves Otabek’s eyes widen.

“Don’t go.” Again, there’s something more to it than Yuri’s expecting. It’s not an order, but not a question either. He’s so unaccustomed to reading his voice, so unused to getting more than a sliver of emotion at a time, he doesn’t know how to read it. It could mean anything.

“I’m not going anywhere.” As if to reassure him, Yuri sits on the bed instead of moving to the chair. Otabek relaxes, closing his eyes again.

Georgi is unwrapping the bandages. Although no blood has leaked through the outer layer, the more he removes the more obvious it becomes quite how bad the operation had been.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Yuri watches him as he peels away the layers, from white to brown to red. It smells like hunting.

The skin underneath is spattered purple and teal, the colours moving under the surface. The wound itself shows no sign of having been re-opened, but Yuri recognises the signs well enough to know that has been sealed with magic. Something like a netted membrane is stretched over it, and although it’s supposed to be holding everything together, the wound is still seeping blood.

Georgi is making humming noises, and with hands on Otabek’s knee, is slowly moving it back and forth. Otabek has stopped responding.

“Georgi,” Yuri swallows, but doesn’t know how to follow it up. His half-brother is carefully moving his hands above the wound, perhaps an inch away from the skin.

“It’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Last... oh, Yuri.” He has brought fresh bandages with him. Looking away, he lifts Otabek’s leg and starts the slow process of covering the wound up again. “Last time was different.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.” The conviction in his voice is undeniable, but his shoulders are slumped, his eyes tired. “We started from a much worse point, and we didn’t have the same materials or knowledge. Even now, I’m not sure we could have done anything for her.”

Yuri stands up, suddenly unable to cope with the thickness of the air in the room.

“I need to...” the words freeze in his throat as he looks down at Otabek, who hasn’t moved since Georgi started unwrapping his bandages. Panic seizes him without warning, his feet carrying him the two steps closer before his brain gets a weigh in. He leans down, sweeping his hair out of the way and putting his ear to Otabek’s mouth. His lips are slightly parted, and for one heart-stopping second, Yuri can’t hear anything.

The warm breath on his ear, an almost silent exhale, sends a ripple of relief down his spine. He steps away, reassured and yet still fraught with that tension. Just because he’s breathing now doesn’t mean that he will be in ten minutes, or half an hour, or even in a few days time.

“He asked you to stay,” Georgi reminds him softly, “don’t you think you should, this time?” Standing, he tidies the dirty bandages away. They flank the man on the bed like this, one on each side. Otabek’s head is turned towards him, his cheek against the pillow. People always look so strange when they’re asleep, Yuri thinks. Almost like blank canvases. Their personality is no longer guiding their actions, their facial expressions. They look almost empty, like they would if there was no soul inside.

Yuri’s chest tightens. He nods, unable to speak. Georgi moves around the bed and approaches him, warily.

Yuri can’t bring himself to look up. It’s easier to continue staring at his feet, where he can’t see either of them because his hair is in the way, and he doesn’t have to look at the scene that is painfully familiar.

Eventually, he shakes his head.

“You’re right. Mother...” he can’t say anything else.

To his incredible surprise, Georgi drops everything to pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Georgi.” He knows that there’s no energy to it, no bite. He tries anyway. “Georgi, get off me, you dickhead.” It has no effect at all. Giving up, he rests his head on his brother’s shoulder.

Finally, when Georgi lets go, he’s holding it together a bit better.

“Now piss off.” He snaps, “I’m fucking exhausted.”

He is, too. The banquet had been long, the day even longer. It feels like this morning is an entire lifetime ago. He’s not even sure he remembers what it feels like to wear a hood anymore.

Sleeping on the floor hadn’t exactly been refreshing, either.

Georgi leaves him with a silent smile and a final pat on the back.

Otabek’s expression is still terrifyingly blank. It’s not the same as when he’s awake. This is not the face he’s used to seeing, somehow. The features are all the same, but the person... the person isn’t.

He wasn’t kidding about being exhausted. It occurs to him that he didn’t ask Georgi to set up a second bed. The chair is a tiny, rickety wooden thing, and if he tried to sleep on that he’d probably fall off. Looking down at Otabek again, he can’t help himself from watching for the rise and fall of his chest, reassuring himself that he’s still there.

 

-

 

Otabek wakes up in the early hours of the morning.

Yuri, no more than ten seconds later, is shaken awake by Otabek whispering “Lungs! Lungs!”

He moves his head immediately, throwing himself off his friend to give him space. Somebody had put out the torches, so the room is almost pitch black. Yuri fumbles for a minute, trying to sit up without sitting on him.

“Shit, sorry.” He whispers back, his hands looking for a part of Otabek that is safe to touch. His heavy breathing in the dark is disconcerting without the visual assurance of his presence.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt your leg? I’m so sorry, I must have moved in my sleep, I...”

“Yura, it’s fine. I’m fine.” The covers rustle as Otabek sits up, breathing more evenly now. Their legs knock together as he moves, and Yuri thanks his lucky stars that he thought to sleep on the side opposite to his injury. “You are a lot heavier than you look.”

Yuri laughs, not really amused, but relieved enough to be surprised into a breathless half-noise.

“I know.” Otabek’s hands find his in the dark, and squeezes. It’s not much of a response, but it’s enough. For a moment, they just sit.

“Why aren’t you in the castle?” Otabek asks, eventually. It’s not accusatory, as such. Just... curious.

“You asked me to stay.”

“I did?” He sounds so surprised Yuri immediately backtracks, realising all in one go that he had a fever, and a magic one at that, the symptoms of which he has experienced before and should have understood.

“Look, if you...” he goes to withdraw his hand, but Otabek grips it tighter.

“Good.” He interrupts. Yuri makes a small ‘oh’ of surprise, as Otabek’s hand moves up his arm and comes to rest on his shoulder. “Come back here, it’s too early to be awake.”

He gives him a little tug, and Yuri carefully shuffles closer, feeling his way with his hand before he follows through.

“You’re not still delirious?” He whispers, as Otabek’s hand wraps around his shoulders and pulls him close to his body.

“No, just tired. Are you going to go back to sleep or not?”

Otabek lets him go to lie down, but pulls him back into a hug as soon as they’re comfortable, one arm around his shoulders, one arm finding the gap between his neck and the pillow and curling around his head. His fingers find the nape of Yuri’s neck. Compliant, Yuri curls up, folding his legs into his chest and tucking his head against Otabek’s shoulder. It’s too close for Otabek to keep holding him like that, so he shuffles, stretching both of his arms around Yuri so that he is encompassed in a little cocoon.

With Otabek’s arms around him, his heartbeat thrumming though his chest straight into Yuri’s head, he breathes easily.

“Sorry I woke you up.” He says quietly into Otabek’s undershirt. His natural smell seems to be a sweet, gentle musk, a smell that Yuri’s already come to recognise as his, without ever quite realising it. “I used to sleep like that with my mum. Having my head on her chest meant that I always knew she was still breathing.” It’s a small admission, but it’s something he’d never have been able to say in the light.

Otabek breathes into his head, the warmth of it ghosting across his parting and ruffling his hair.

“I wasn’t in any real danger, Yura.”

In response, Yuri simply uncurls his knees from his chest, extracts his arm from his chest, and throws it around Otabek to pull him closer. Going by Otabek’s silence, he doesn’t need to say any more than that.

For a while, they simply lie there. Yuri is getting used to the sensation of being held. There’s a certain unreal quality about it, in the dark. His eyes are closed, but even if they were open he wouldn’t be able to see Otabek. The steady warmth of his chest and the thumping of his heart should be assurance enough, as should be the gentle breathing tickling across his skull. It’s just that he can’t seem to let go of something. What it is, he doesn’t know, but he can’t relax.

Otabek’s arms are still tense around him, too.

“You’re not sleeping,” he whispers, accusingly. The responding chuckle ripples through his hair and vibrates through his chest. He’s never been close enough to someone’s laugh to be able to feel it before.

“Neither are you.”

Yuri pulls back, moving his hand so that it rests on Otabek’s chest where his head was. His heartbeat is still there – still strong.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Otabek asks, and his arms loosen slightly, as if he expects Yuri to move.

“Not really. The air is getting a little stale in this gap, though.” He admits, although reluctantly. Movement means letting go. Sure enough, Otabek shuffles away slightly, allowing him space.

“Here, turn around so your back’s to me.” As soon as he does so, he feels much more comfortable. Otabek tucks his arms under Yuri’s, so that their bodies press together. “Better?”

Yuri hums in response. He’s glad that nights in Rusiki are cool, even in late summer. It would be too hot, anywhere else. Instead, it’s pleasant. Like having his own human heater.

“Are you in much pain?” He asks, thinking that the fever must have broken while Otabek was asleep.

“A little. Not enough to keep me awake. Your brother is good at what he does.” Otabek’s breath ghosts across his back, and he tries not to shiver. He’s just a little too far away; by the time it reaches Yuri, the air has cooled it.

“Half-brother.” He corrects, mildly. It seems important, somehow, that the few people who are allowed to know, know everything. “Mila is my sister, Victor and Georgi are both Lilia’s.” He pauses for a moment, considering. “You know, it occurred to me yesterday, I don’t even know your sister’s name.”

“Elder or younger?”

“Both. Neither.” Otabek draws closer, shuffling so that Yuri is more comfortably fitted in the crook of his arm. The other is under Yuri’s next again, held across his chest so that Otabek’s hand rests on his outer shoulder. His arm is just slightly too wide for the gap. He’s going to have to move it soon, or the weight of Yuri’s head is going to cut off the blood flow.

“Alyona and Roza.”

“Roza is the younger?”

“Yes. She’s seventeen.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Before her sixteenth birthday. Nearly two years ago.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Perhaps too long, but Roza and I have never been as close as Alyona and I were. The age gap is wider.”

“Do you miss her?” Otabek murmurs something, perhaps nothing more than a hum, but it’s quieter than their already-whispered conversation, and Yuri misses it.

“Sometimes. Her life is there, and mine is here. We both accept that. We didn’t always see eye to eye.”

“What’s she like?”

That one requires some thought.

“Strong. Intelligent. Always stubborn. Mischievous, sometimes.”

“Sounds familiar.” Yuri smiles, tuning his head so that the curve of his mouth is pressed against Otabek’s arm. He chuckles, his breath hot on Yuri’s back and the movement reverberating through his spine where it’s pressed to Otabek’s stomach.

“We are related.”

Yuri yawns, wide and long. Otabek pushes his nose into his neck, into his hair.

“Does she look like you?” Yuri asks, trying to picture it.

“Yura. Sleep if you’re tired.”

“Can’t you keep telling me about Roza until I fall asleep?”

He turns his head a little further, until his cheek touches Otabek’s forehead. His hair is kind of in the way. He doesn’t mind.

“I can tell you about her obsession with names, if you want.”

Otabek’s voice is slightly muffled, so Yuri puts his head back on the pillow.

“I want to know everything.” He can feel Otabek smile against his skin. His lips are strangely soft, for somebody made of straight lines and hard edges.

“I think you’ll fall asleep before then.”

“I don’t mind. Tell me about Roza’s names.”

“Names are very important. We choose them as much for their meaning as their sound. Roza was always upset that her name was so plain.”

“I don’t think it’s plain.”

“Sssh, you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Sorry.” He yawns again, tipping his head back slightly. Otabek nudges into his neck with his nose.

“Excuse me, but I do need to be able to breathe.”

“Mmhmmm.”

He chuckles softly as Yuri settles, waiting to resume his story.

“She has been helping me choose names for my animals for as long as I can remember. I’ve had Aisulu since I was ten, and she was a foal. I was going to call her Hawa, which I think to westerners would be Eve, because she was my first horse. Roza said I was boring. Her names are mostly based on looks – Aisulu means ‘beautiful like the moon’, and Karzhau means ‘it is snowing’, because of her white patches.”

His voice is soft, no more than a murmur. Yuri has to struggle to pay attention. Tired as he is, he wants to know.

“Timur means ‘iron’, because he’s nearly all grey. Roza was determined that he should be recognised for that too, and not just for his red patches.”

“She chose all of those?”

“We decided together. She does occasionally allow my suggestions too. Kutken means ‘the long awaited’. I had been trying to trap a Steppe Eagle for years when I finally found him. Zhadyra was a leaving gift from Alyona when she left, so we called her ‘memory’. Hawa I got on my journey and Maksat I caught in Candis, so I had to name them without Roza’s help. Hawa, because she was the first I caught away from home. Maksat means ‘goal’ or ‘purpose’ because we needed another hunting bird.”

Yuri is breathing slower, more deeply than before.

“You got to use Hawa after all.”

“I like the simpler names too.”

“What else can you tell me about?”

He thinks about that for a moment. Yuri’s hair flickers back and forth with the pattern of his steady breathing.

“How about the mountain crossing?”

Yuri doesn’t respond. He’s already asleep.

Otabek simply holds him, quietly, until he, too, drifts off.

 

-

 

Snow. Swirling around him. He puts his hand out, and catches a petal. It sits, teardrop shaped and perfect, in the palm of his hand. Not snow then, but blossom. It crunches under his feet as he walks, his feet sinking in. It’s deep, like a snowdrift. The petal in his hand melts away. Maybe it melts. It’s gone, but the rest of the snow is falling densely, until his vision is obscured. Maybe it blew away on the wind.

It should be cold. Snow is cold. He shivers.

Unless it’s not snow. They could be cherry blossoms, falling so thick that the meadows were pink.

Ah, yes, pink.

Is that what this is?

Snowflakes would be white.

He walks. It’s not crunching now, soft and forgiving under his feet. The ground underneath the layer is hard.

Still he walks, slowly. There is nothing ahead, and nothing behind. Nothing but snow blossom.

It stops. Yuri looks down, and the petals under his feet are browning. Trampled - he trampled them - they wither and decay.

He feels sick. It’s so ugly. Something terrible...

“That’s the thing about the blossoms,” Katsuki’s voice says. Yuri looks up, but he can’t see him. Instead, it’s Victor. Taller, skinnier, he holds himself proudly. Silver hair? Mostly silver. Some of it is black, like an ink stain. His back is turned, his hand reaching out towards a tree. “Somebody always ruins it.”

He turns, and yes, it’s Victor, but it’s Katsuki too. They speak with Katsuki’s unmistakeable accent, but it’s Victor’s words. Both of their faces, one eye brown, one blue. Split down the middle. They wear Katsuki’s armour, but in Victor’s colours.

“I didn’t mean to,” Yuri says, or tries to. The words come out as nonsense, syllables that sound nothing like what it was supposed to be.

The ground begins to rumble underneath him. Victor-Katsuki splits, straight down the middle, and the ground throws Yuri towards him, them, landing on his knees in the blood between the two halves. They wriggle, writhing in agony, splattering the blood everywhere.

God, so much blood. His hands, his knees, his stomach. Red, red, and somebody _moans_...

“Otabek!” He tries to say, scrabbling to staunch the blood, trying to hold his leg together, but it comes out as a bark, more like a dog than a human, and the wound is spreading, ripping him across, until his leg comes clean off in Yuri’s hand.

There’s a bouquet in his hands. Pink flowers, teardrop shaped petals. Where his fingers touch them, they’re melting, bleeding colour over his fingers, blood, so much blood, bright red, and when they finally melt into nothingness, he’s left holding a knife.

Otabek is waiting for him at the altar.

No, it’s JJ.

Is it?

The figure has dark hair, a sword, but his features are unsettled. He comes towards Yuri, not walking, gliding, and Yuri takes a step back, trying to run, but his back hits the wall. He tries to drop the knife, but it’s stuck to his hand. Curling away from the figure, he screams, screams, but no sound comes out.

His ears fill with white noise, and two firm hands grab him.

Yuri thrusts the knife out.

Otabek’s eyes look back at him, wide and pained.

His hands curl around the knife’s handle, his skin hot and burning against Yuri’s.

Yuri lets go.

Otabek falls back, slow motion, one hand releasing the knife to reach for Yuri, smudging blood along his cheek as gravity drags him away. Otabek’s knees buckle first, his back hitting the floor before his head. His hand falls last, bouncing off the floor with the force of the impact.

“You got your freedom, Yura,” Victor-Katsuki’s voice again, disembodied, echoes around him. He’s on the floor again, shaking Otabek, but his head is lolling, and the blood, god, the blood, it’s leaking from his glassy eyes like tears, running over Yuri’s fingers, wet and hot and sticky and _red_.

“What are you going to do with it?”

Yuri’s standing in the arena. There’s a sword in his hand. It’s not his, heavier, sharper, more dangerous. Not a duelling weapon.

There’s a body below him. The blade is covered in blood, dripping with it. He kicks the corpse, and Otabek rolls over, his eyes open wide and still. Unmistakeable.

His mother’s eyes.

Unseeing, but open, and he daren’t touch, knows she’ll be cold, knows she’ll be dead.

But it’s not his mother. It’s Otabek. His hair is darker, longer, his eyes browner, his jaw broader and his skin realer, less translucently white.

“It was supposed to be a fight for first blood,” Lilia says, stepping up from behind him. “Not to the death.”

“Was this the only way you saw to freedom, little brother?” Georgi’s voice is unbearably sad, his hand touching Yuri’s shoulder as he passes.

“How convenient,” Yakov growls. “It’s not murder if it happens in a duel.”

Mila’s next, brittle and unforgiving.

“We all saw it happen, Yuri. It wasn’t self-defense. You meant to do it.”

Yuri can’t say anything, can’t even move, completely unable to defend himself. They gather around him, around Otabek’s body, condemning him.

“This is obviously premeditated.” Victor says. “It could mean war.”

“Oh, Yuri,” Katsuki’s voice is the worst so far, “what about his sister? His parents? Wasn’t it bad enough for them already?”

“Oh, God.” Isabella joins the circle, the first to drop to her knees, looking for signs of life. Her hands flutter around his body, uselessly searching. “Oh, Beka. What did he do to you?”

“Would you have killed me too, Yuri?” JJ is the last to join the circle, stepping into the only free space. They close in around him, leaning forwards, focused on him like a laser.

It burns.

It _burns_.

Snow is falling.

 

-

 

Yuri stares at Otabek’s face.

He’s barely visible, the pre-dawn light little more than a match could offer. It’s enough.

Somehow, Yuri’s nightmare hadn’t woken him. He’s a lot less of an imposing presence with his face half-squashed into the pillow. A few strands of hair have worked their way loose. One of them rests over his nose, and flutters slightly with every steady breath. His arms are still tucked around Yuri, but looser, enough for Yuri to be able to twist himself around without disturbing him.

God, Yuri’s glad he’s not awake. He’s a mess.

The thing is, the dream isn’t new.

It’s not even, entirely, a dream.

Yuri’s never killed anybody in his life. He’s never needed to. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about it. It’s what their training is originally geared towards. Before knights became a social rank all by themselves, before the tournaments and championships, when times of peace were more tenuous and wars long and fraught, knights were warriors. They killed people. His training still reflected that.

Before today, he’d never considered whether he’d actually be able to do it. Or even what it would be like to do it.

Dream it might have been, but the whole thing had been so visceral. Sometimes he doesn’t even dream in colour, let alone temperature. Who feels fucking texture in their dreams anyway?

He can still feel it. Perhaps it’s just his imagination, but it’s still there. Persistently knocking his subconscious. It’s the resistance of the blade as it sunk into a body, the judder as it scraped against Otabek’s ribcage. It’s the always disturbing wetness of blood, exactly the right temperature to be neither hot nor cold, and he’d hardly know it were there at all if it hadn’t been for the fact it stuck his fingers together. It’s the tang of copper on his tongue, the cold breeze picking out the smear across his cheek.

He’d been willing to do it, hadn’t he?

Planned to, even.

What kind of person did that make him?

Otabek snuffles slightly in his sleep, turning his head further into the pillow. It squashes his nose slightly, but he settles again. Yuri can’t breathe.

Fuck, he can’t do this.

 

-

 

Otabek wakes alone. The sheets are cold.


	8. An Unexpected Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind support, everyone! I can't believe there are 100 comments on this! I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it so far and I hope you will continue to do so ^_^

Yuri gives up on sleep before dawn is fully over. He’s exhausted, but even being back in his own bed has offered him little more peace. The sun is still rising early, and it’s hours before breakfast will be ready.

Yuri seems to have adopted Otabek’s animals. It’s the first thing he thinks of when he gets up out of bed, even before he sees his robes still spread out from last night, and is reminded of what today will not be. His armour stands in the corner of the room, conspicuously. Yuri huffs at the sight, and goes to pull his dressing screen in front of it.

Much preferring the birds to the anti-climax of his postponed duel, he dresses quickly and simply. He throws a tunic on over his trousers, happy to be forgoing the hood. It’s cool now, but it will be warm later. The morning after a banquet, the rest of the castle’s inhabitants and guests are still sleeping. They were all supposed to be up and down at the arena by now. The lie-in will be appreciated, though. It wasn’t just Katsuki who had a little too much to drink last night.

He goes to Ariya first, mostly because he’s worried about her after last night. If it’s also because he’s unsettled, he doesn’t admit it to himself. She’s still sleeping, and doesn’t much appreciate his concerns. Snubbed, he wanders out of the castle, torn between going to the hospital and the hawking tent. Deciding it’s probably too early for both the birds and the invalid, he heads out to the tent village instead.

Yuri is not good at being bored. He’s always got so much energy; he needs _something_ to do with it. He ambles aimlessly; letting his feet decide direction as his mind wanders. Eventually, he finds himself at the competitor’s gate.

The arena is still set up, although empty. The sun is rising from behind the camp, casting long shadows on the ground. There’s a slight murmur of activity from the squires and servants who have been sleeping out here, but there’s no real life yet.

Yuri makes his way across the arena. He’s not really sure why. It feels smaller from the far side, without the horses and the crowd. The royal box is empty.

He wishes he’d brought his sword. He feels naked like this, in nothing but his tunic, hair blowing in the early morning breeze. He doesn’t bother to brush it out of his face.

The arena is for competitors, knights, and he’s not one of them anymore. If he’d worn his armour, he could have pretended, for a little longer, that yesterday hadn’t been the moment he’d had his life signed away. Time has been stolen back, for now, but how long did he have left? A few weeks? A month?

Yuri’s biggest protest about the tournament was the prospect of being won – of being a commodity rather than a human being. The duel was supposed to counteract that, to prove that he was a knight in his own right, title or no, and that he couldn’t just be walked away from his life without some kind of consequence.

It doesn’t help that Otabek has shaken his sense of self to the core.

What kind of knight sees his own mother in the eyes of someone he had _already_ resolved not to kill?

Just because she’d the only dead body he’d ever seen, just because he’d been young, it’s apparently fucked him up for good.

What kind of knight would have made anyway? Would he have been able to do it? Or would he have won and held back, only to be forced into submitting to the contract anyway? It’s not much of a plan, but it’s pretty much what he’s stuck with now.

Fucking Otabek.

Legally –  _legally_ , the winner of the tournament decides everything. There’s only so much influence Yuri could have had over that, and even what he did manage is unsatisfactory. Pointless, even. Even if they’re not officially married, they’re stuck together. He seriously doubts that the heir to a throne would be willing to stay in the kingdom of a third-born, rather than returning home to his duties.

Fucking Altin and his fucking eyes, and his disarming... everything. He’s been kind, he’s been charming, he has the tenacity to tease Yuri, in a way that doesn’t make him want to commit murder (Victor could do to learn from that). His openness, his willingness to talk about his own experiences without forcing it on Yuri, and in return, his genuine interest in getting to know Yuri as a person, and the fact that he actually pays attention to and remembers what Yuri tells him, is...

Unusual. To say the least.

It’s the most he’s willing to admit to, though.

How long had it taken Otabek to get here anyway? What had he left behind to cross the mountains, risking his own life as well as that of his servants and his animals to get here? Risking the future of his _country_ –

Yuri has questions.

As the camp slowly comes to life around him, he stares at his vacant throne. The sun is behind him now, casting a golden glow on the empty box. Behind it, the castle catches the dawn light, the yellow stone seeming warm and welcoming, familiar.

Asking Otabek about his motivations seems like a much simpler task than trying to decipher his own.

A bird calls, loud and mournful.

 _Kutken_.

Yuri turns away without a second thought, allowing himself to be occupied by the thought of Otabek’s hunting birds. If they’re awake, then they’ll want feeding. Thankfully, the tent village is not large, and he finds the way without having to ask for directions. He’s already drawing glances. Dammit, he shouldn’t have worn his crown. There’s no point in taking it off now, he doesn’t have a bag and carrying it would be even stranger.

“Good morning, your highness,” one passing girl bows slightly, before scurrying on. They’re all busy with their tasks for the day already. He doesn't bother to respond. It’s a pattern that repeats itself four or five times before he reaches the tent.

Otabek’s mare - Aisulu? - is still tied up next to his small encampment. That’s a problem easily solved; Yuri knows that they have space in the stables. There’s another horse, too, one that either wasn’t here yesterday or that he didn’t notice.

This must be Karzhau. She’s of the same build as Aisulu, slight but sturdy, probably of the same stock. Less striking, colour-wise, but the white patches Roza named her for are still lovely. Yuri likes her face – it’s brown, with a large patch of white over one eye, stretching almost to her ear. It makes her look slightly off-balance, like one side of her head is bigger than the other. He shows a hand to her as a peace offering, but she’s not interested unless he has food.

He feels them both, carefully, wary of spooking them. Animals who aren’t used to influence can be a bit skittish. Thankfully, neither of them reacts. They’re both healthy, although hungry. They’ve stripped their little patch of grass bare, and no wonder. Yuri wonders if Otabek’s squires are all completely useless, or whether they’re just so used to him looking after his animals himself that they forgot they needed to take over. Either way, he has a very low opinion of people who leave animals to starve, accidentally or otherwise.

The horses, unfortunately, have to wait. Having been left on their own all night, the birds are restless, and in much more need of attention.

They react better to him this morning. Having thought to bring his own gauntlet from the castle, he also feels much more comfortable letting them feed from his hand if they want to. Really, it’s only Hawa that wants to be hand fed, and it’s probably due to her age. The black kite is the youngest of all of them, and she’s been with Otabek for the least time.

The others are happy to allow him to hold and pet after they’ve been fed, but mostly they all want to fly, and he’s not sure whether he’s willing to do that without Otabek there. Even with his influence, it’s not a good idea to just let them loose in a strange place with a new handler. Letting them hop around for a bit and stretch their wings is the best he can do. They need fresh air though, so before he goes he has to tie all their leathers to their perches so that he can safely leave the tent flap a little open.

He leaves them fed and watered, in a slightly improved mood but still restless. The horses are happy enough to be moved, and he takes one in each hand, careful to walk back to the castle via the track rather than the meadow. It’s longer, but easier on his arms. He doesn’t have any trouble with them until they actually get to the stables, where some idiot is piling hay outside the gates, and he has to haul them past to get inside.

By the time they’re settled and he’s fed, watered and groomed them, he’s late for breakfast. He also smells of dead mice and horsehair. It’s not his best look, he’ll admit, but he’s a hell of a lot happier than when he woke up.

Lilia is less happy with him. He does have a tendency to vanish quite a lot, and usually she wouldn’t mind, but if it means him turning up to breakfast with straw in his hair and bird crap on his tunic, she’ll definitely have something to say about it.

“You’re not coming in here like that,” is precisely what she has to say about it, handing him two sticky buns and sending him up to his room to get dressed. “You’ll disgrace yourself. Come back when you’re presentable.”

Yuri happily ignores her, and goes to the hospital.

Otabek is pleased to see him, much to Yuri’s relief, especially when he deduces from his state how he’s spent his morning. Last night isn’t mentioned at all, and Yuri’s not going to bring it up. Thankfully, Otabek doesn’t seem to want to either, content enough to chat about how horrendous the hospital breakfast had been.

When Yuri allows him a sticky bun in recompense, he actually almost smiles. Losing half his breakfast is totally worth it for that. If there’s some way he can feel it on his skin again, he has to find it soon.

“The King came to visit me this morning to verify the arrangement for the next few weeks,” Otabek starts, and Yuri glares at him over his bun, because he _does not want to talk about this_. Otabek continues, “I would appreciate your help with the animals – I can walk, but they don’t want me to. I certainly can’t ride.”

Oh.

Yuri thinks that Otabek might be an unsuspecting psychic. They totally do exist, despite Georgi’s protests to the contrary. It would definitely explain the level of control he has over his birds.

“I meant to ask you about taking them out hunting, actually. They were restless this morning.”

Otabek nods, thoughtfully. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask any other questions about the morning. Yuri is doing his level best to forget all about it.

Everything about him seems considered, and Yuri wonders what it is that draws the passion out of him. Even during the duel, he never made a single swing that wasn’t calculated. It was fierce, but it was controlled.

“They have hunted nearly every day for four months. I would rather risk allowing you to take them out than keep them cooped up after that. After seeing you fly Ariya and interact with them yesterday, I doubt you’ll have much trouble with them. Timur may be difficult at first...”

By the time he heads back to the castle, it’s nearly lunchtime. Otabek has versed him in the subtleties in the personalities of all of his birds, their different requirements and preferences. There are no lessons on training techniques yet, but he has been promised; as soon as Otabek can walk again.

Together, they put together a schedule for the horses’ training. Aisulu is apparently not black, but dark bay, and a purebred, whereas Karzhau is a mix of something else. Aisulu is the older by quite a margin, and though he doesn’t state it outright, Yuri suspects that Otabek is lining Karzhau up so that he can retire her. Their stamina and endurance is incredible – and Yuri’s going to have to do a lot of riding to keep it up.

There’s more energy in his direction, now that he finally has something to do with himself. As is becoming an established pattern, he leaves Otabek with more questions than he started with, but he’s not really bothered by that.

Knowing that Lilia won’t appreciate him turning up to lunch in the same state, he makes a point of changing into one of his nicer tunics. The day isn’t as warm as he anticipated, and he decides to give the gold hood an airing after all. It is beautiful, and it was made for him. He keeps it down still, covering his shoulders rather than his hair.

It’s only halfway down to the hall that he realises he’s wearing light blue and gold. It may not have been intentional, but he does have some bridge building to do, it seems, and the accidental statement might put him in Yakov’s good books for a bit.

Yakov, it turns out, doesn’t notice. Lilia definitely does though, and he has to pretend that he’s not aware that she’s trying to draw his attention, throwing himself into conversation with Victor and Katsudon, who has some apologies of his own to make.

“Oh, come off it.” Yuri snaps, “I’d have had to tell everyone this morning, anyway. Stop wallowing in self-pity, it’s disgusting.”

Katsuki still seems repentant, but Yuri suspects it has something more to do with the fact he was drunk at all than what Yuri suffered because of him.

Victor, on his part, thinks it’s hilarious.

It’s weirdly reassuring to see them like this. He finds himself inexplicably tolerant of their antics, simply relieved to see them interacting normally. They end up leaving together. Yuri tries to dodge out of it, but then a thought occurs to him.

“Tell you what, Katsudon, you can make it up to me.” Victor gives him a distrustful look, his gaze flickering from his fiancé to his brother and back as they walk down the corridor. “I know you’ve got nothing to do this afternoon, Victor’s got one of those stupid meetings. Come down to the training ground with me instead.”

Katsuki gives this some thought.

“Is this a ‘bring your sword’ kind of invitation to the training ground?”

“It is.” Katsuki looks doubtful, but as he opens his mouth to make some kind of polite refusal...

“Count me in!” Yuri jumps as someone’s hand lands on his shoulder. He shrugs it off immediately, already knowing whose it is.

“Piss off, JJ, I wasn’t inviting you.” He doesn’t even turn around, just keeps walking. JJ’s knocked his hood askew, so he has to rearrange it.

JJ still doesn’t seem to have adjusted to the fact that he’s no longer taller than Yuri. He attempts to lean over his shoulder to join in the conversation.

“How about a challenge, then?”

Victor stops walking abruptly, and Yuri nearly bumps into him. JJ does bump into Yuri, sending his face into the back of his half-brother’s head.

“Ow!” He protests, rubbing his nose. “Watch where you’re going, you...”

“A challenge?” Victor is looking right past him at the king. Yuri has to brush JJ’s hand off _again_ , and seriously this guy does not know how take a hint. He’s engaged now, for heaven’s sake. He pulls his hood tighter, finally turning around to glare at him.

They’re blocking the hallway now, a little circle of dignitaries, drawing the attention of the people trying to get past.

“Yeah! Yurio, I challenge you to a duel. Let’s not let all this go to waste, eh?”

He gives him a friendly dig in the ribs. Yuri resists the urge to bite him, but only just.

Katsuki is giving him the glare again – the one that says ‘ _he’s just being friendly, Yurio, consider cultural differences’_. He’s hot on that kind of stuff, but honestly, all Yuri asks is that people don’t randomly touch him without permission. None of the other people from Candis do that to him. It’s definitely a JJ thing, and he reserves the right to be offended by it.

“Why?” He demands, “You lost. There’s nothing in it for you.”

JJ actually laughs.

Katsuki is still looking at him. Victor is too, now. They’re waiting for something – he’s really not sure what’s going on.

Then the penny drops.

Right, JJ never actually wanted to marry him, he just wanted to duel him.

Well, that explains the challenge, anyway.

“Yurio! You’re so funny.” JJ moves his hand, again, as if he’s going to pat Yuri on the shoulder, and that’s it. Something gives.

“Get off me!” Yuri yells, slapping his hand away. “Go put your hands somewhere they’re actually wanted!”

Whoops. He’s glad Isabella didn’t hear that.

The hallway is very quiet. Victor’s piercing stare is the least of his worries right now, but for some reason, it’s the thing he’s most aware of.

JJ looks like he’s going to take him seriously for all of half a second, and then he chuckles. He’s still insufferably comfortable in his own skin, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. No apology appears to be forthcoming. Yuri is not surprised. In all of their many, many altercations over the years, JJ has never seemed to understand what exactly it is that pisses Yuri off so much. It’s not like he hasn’t told him. He does – every time. He just doesn’t understand that it upsets Yuri, because it wouldn’t upset him.

He’s going to be a shitty ass king if he doesn’t learn.

“I’ve already made it clear I’m not fighting anybody who’s already injured.” Yuri finally allows. “Your challenge will have to wait.” It seems a diplomatic enough approach. He actually thinks he sees Victor smile, just ever so slightly. Shit, he must be mellowing.

JJ just shrugs.

“Then we go sword to sword. I’ll admit, it’s unusual, but I think we proved yesterday just how exciting it can be, yes?”

How is nearly amputating a man _exciting_?

The cut on his cheek is scabbed over already. It’s not very deep, but it’s definitely more than just a scratch. It’s a glaring addition to JJ’s appearance. He’s always been so careful, as long as Yuri’s known him (way, way too long). It’s not in the centre, and one line is longer than the other. In comparison to JJ’s carefully shaped sideburns, it’s refreshingly imperfect.

Yuri likes the idea of giving him a matching one.

He narrows his eyes, wondering where the hell JJ gets this confidence. Even with a scar like that, his demeanour is unchanged.

“What’s the catch?” He demands. As much as he wants to fight, and as much as he wants to fight JJ, he’s got some sense. Throwing himself into something like this could be a major issue, politically.

“No catch. No stakes. I just want to prove I can beat you.”

Yeah fuck that, JJ’s going down.

“Fine, I accept your challenge. Get your ass down to the arena as soon as possible. If you keep me waiting I’ll give you a matching splint on both your legs.”

JJ actually looks pleased.

He opens his mouth to respond, but Yuri doesn’t let him. He sticks his finger in JJ’s face, and for half a second he goes cross-eyes trying to look at it. Yuri has the sudden and absurd urge to laugh.

“I am going to beat your ass into the ground.” He spits, instead. Turning on his heel, he pushes past Victor and forces his way through the throngs of people, down the hallway. He’s going to have to get Lilia to help him put his armour on.

“I look forward to it!” JJ calls after him. Yuri ignores him, still fuming.

Fine, there’ll be a fight today after all.

 

-

 

 Yuri has chosen his Rusiki-Red tunic to go under his mail. The brightness stands out in sharp contrast to the almost black shine on his breastplate. He’s also thrown the golden hood over his shoulders, just because he likes it. It’s gorgeous, after all, and it goes well with the ensemble.

Lilia is dubious as she helps him dress, but when she realises the fight has no stakes, she has little to protest against. Yuri’s been looking for a reason to duel with JJ properly for _years_ , and now he’s not distracted by the threat of possibly having to marry the git if he loses to him, it’s an even more appealing prospect.

He’s the first at the arena. A crowd is already gathering, the word having spread fast. Even some of the other challengers are there. After all, they were expecting to see a fight today. Most of them were probably even expecting to see this one. Yuri’s never been much of a crowd-pleaser, but this seems to have drawn attention.

He rides into the ring. Walking from the castle, even in his light armour, would tire him out too much before the fight. With no horse of his own, he’s borrowed Karzhau. He hopes Otabek doesn’t mind too much – he didn’t get a chance to ask him. It’s less presumptuous, and much more discreet, than using Aisulu. Although he’s be lying if he said he didn’t consider it - purely for the aesthetic value of having a knight in black armour on a black horse.

Karzhau seems to be enjoying the attention and responding well to him, though. They do a couple of laps of the arena, just because he’s going to take any chance to show off his skill if he can. Cantering around the ring is all about showmanship. He is parading again, his golden hood flapping behind him like a cape as the wind catches it. It’s a similar colour scheme to his robes of last night – the red, gold and black. It’s intentional.

On the second go round, he thinks he spots a familiar face in the crowd. On the third time, he’s looking for it, and yeah –

He pulls Karzhau to a halt, unwilling to let this slide.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Otabek smirks up at him, leaning heavily on an unhappy-looking mage who he’s obviously roped into helping him. There’s no way that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s just in the stands, the idiot, and now that Yuri’s drawing attention to him, everyone’s turning round to get a look.

“I was going to give you a favour, but you’ve already got my horse.”

Yuri opens his mouth to respond, but Otabek’s leaning forward over the barrier, offering him something.

It’s a glove.

Somebody starts cheering.

Of course, he would give him the most traditional favour possible. There is nothing to be mistaken about the giving of a glove.

“Sorry,” Otabek is still smiling, and holy shit, Yuri thinks he has an even better reason for wanting to beat JJ than simply beating JJ. “It was the only thing I had with me.”

“I think you’ve made your point well enough.” He considers it. He can hardly put it on; he’s got his own gauntlets already. He doesn’t want to pin it to his armour either. It looks like doeskin. It might have been a gift, but there’s no way it will fit him, and something as valuable as this – he’s not going to be able to keep it after the fight.

Well, he’s not actually expected to wear it during the duelling anyway. It takes Yuri a couple of seconds, but he leans down and takes it. Lilia will have to look after it for him. He holds it tightly, and nods his thanks.

Otabek gives him a thumbs up. This is becoming a ‘thing’, as Mila calls it. He pulls away, not even bothering to hide the smile.

JJ’s still not here, so he does one last lap, and settles by the entrance, dismounting in preparation.

Lilia takes the glove without question. She takes the hood and the crown too, and Yuri replaces them with his helmet. This is it.

A quick nod of the head is all the reassurance he gets from Lilia. Walking towards the centre of the ring, he concentrates wholly on the task at hand. Flipping his visor down over his face, he draws his sword, and waits.

The arena is already muddied. Two days of being ridden up and down on, battled through, skirmished across and bled into has thinned the grass considerably. They’re lucky it hasn’t rained again, or it would be treacherously slippery.

The crowd are growing restless. That’s fine by him – it means they’ll be less inclined to cheer for JJ, and it also means they’ll be desperate from them to begin by the time he does finally get there.

With plenty of time to draw up his anger, Yuri decides to go back over all of the various incidents and run-ins he’s had with JJ over the years. How old had he been when they first met? Twelve? Even then, JJ was a pain in the ass. Spoilt brat. Always wanting to do things _his_ way.

There have been so many times that Yuri’s wanted nothing more than to teach him a lesson. When he’d pitched a fit because he wasn’t allowed to go out hunting with them, only for him to be loud and bumbling when they relented, so they didn’t catch a single thing. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d demanded that Yuri spar with him, even when Yuri was bored or busy, but Victor had Yakov had made him do it anyway. He’d been forced to spend so much time being diplomatic to the asshole, was it even a surprise that he’d grown up hating every little thing he did?

JJ didn’t ask for things, he demanded them. Yuri has never been the type of person to deal well with orders.

He’s getting frustrated. He’d not been that fast, and he doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting.

Finally, a herald blows a horn, and in he rides. Even one-handed, his horse is stupidly well behaved. Thinking back, it had actually taken Yuri more than a little push to get the thing to drop him in the dirt at the pledge. Maybe it’s just a naturally unflappable animal.

JJ doesn’t seem to care that he was waiting, doing a couple of laps of his own. It takes forever. Not bothering to do it at a reasonable speed, he keeps slowing down to shake hands or greet people.

Yuri holds still, and refuses to roll his eyes. Patience is his weak point? Then fine, he will wait as long as it takes. It gives the anger time to sizzle in his belly. He knows he’s good, has beaten JJ multiple times in training over the years, and he knows exactly how to get to his weak spots.

This is the chance he was looking for – to prove to Yakov that he’s a knight. Not only that, he’s a better knight than half of the ones who do it professionally. Technically, as a prince, he’s not supposed to accept challenges.

Is Yakov watching from the royal box anyway?

Of course he is.

So is the rest of his family; Victor, Mila, Georgi, even Katsuki. Lilia is the only one not there, and that’s only because she’s acting as his squire. In fact, the crowd is bigger now than it was through some of the duelling yesterday, and they haven’t even started yet.

If nothing else, Yuri knows that his swordsmanship is beautiful to watch. There’s a reason he’s got a reputation, a reason a tournament with a chance to fight him drew so much attention and so many unexpectedly high-ranked challengers. He’s got flair. Not the same useless spinning and showing off that JJ loves so much, but a dedication to difficult moves and techniques that he actually uses properly.

He’s a whirlwind with a sword. Fast, brutal, and beautiful.

What will Otabek think of him? Yuri’s improved a lot since he was ten, and changed a lot, too. If Otabek’s half the knight Yuri thinks he is, he’ll be evaluating Yuri’s technique, comparing it against his own, looking for weakness to exploit when it’s his turn.

Yuri’s not going to show him any.

There was a reason he had had flames stitches into his robes.

JJ finally dismounts. He rolls his shoulders, and hands his horse to the new squire. Yuri idly wonders whether Isabella is watching, but he’s distracted. There are bigger things on his mind.

His heart is beating fast. This feeling is what he’s been chasing his whole life. It’s more than simple fear, and more than simple excitement. It’s a thirst to fight, and a thirst to prove himself, to be the best. It’s stronger now than it’s ever been, thrumming through his veins like blood. A second heartbeat.

JJ is still parading. Rolling his shoulders, bouncing on his feet – he’s not even put his helmet on yet. Yuri flexes his fingers and tries not to think about the fact that he hasn’t been able to practice for the last two days. It’s fine, he’s fresh, and JJ is not only tired, but injured too.

Yuri steps forward, raising his sword. Finally, getting the hint, JJ puts his helmet on. He’s got some kind of heavy splint on his wrist, and he’s brought a long sword. Having only a recently developed and therefore somewhat juvenile sense of honour, Yuri is already considering the moves that are going to cause him to most pain to defend against. It’s a good opportunity to get some more targeted duelling practice in, he thinks.

JJ raises his sword, finally. Yuri nods, the closest he’s ever going to get to a bow. Mostly he only does it because Lilia’s watching, and she’d chew his head off if he didn’t.

“Please don’t take this personally, Yuri!” JJ yells across the area, sweeping his arm as he bows, deep and showy.

Before Yuri has a chance to reply, the horn blows.

JJ thrusts first, and Yuri lets him. He wants to warm up a little, so he waits as JJ advances a few times, countering and stepping out without retaliating. They don’t move much at first, the king keeping pace with his lack of engagement. Keeping distance between them is usually a feature of their spars. The weight of the sword is comfortable, and the way JJ’s using his own is leaving gaps open. He seems to be having fun though, because it means Yuri’s leaving him plenty of space to show off, swinging his sword over his head dramatically, even though it comes nowhere near Yuri’s body.

Giving himself time to warm up is necessary, but Yuri is feeling more settled already, and he knows JJ isn’t expecting him to push now. Not yet.

So he follows through on a deflection without warning. Pushing up, he throws JJ’s blade up, stepping in. To his surprise, JJ doesn’t defend properly. The pommel hits his teeth. His neck cricks at an awkward angle. JJ grunts, the first sound either of them have made besides the metal clashing of their swords.

As satisfying as it is to hit the king in the jaw, he would have gone for a thrust if he’d realised how easy it would be to get behind his sword.

They step back, and JJ has to remove his helmet to be checked for blood. He’s clear – evidently Yuri didn’t hit him hard enough. JJ still looks mildly surprised that he hit him at all. Dropping his sword to his side, Yuri growls at him.

“Are you duelling me or not, dickhead? This is basic shit; I never even got you with that in training.”

“Ah, you got lucky!” JJ doesn’t sound the least bit phased. Yuri thinks it might be an extremely good act.

He knows what happened, of course. This is what JJ does – he assumes that if his opponent hasn’t thrown himself into it fully, he’s not taking it seriously. The pommel of Yuri’s sword landing straight in his face should have proved the opposite well enough.

Yuri wanted to teach him a lesson, but honestly he thought it would have more to do with hitting him than actually pointing out the flaws in his technique.

Training spars are usually with short swords. That’s how he’s always fought with JJ in the past – at arm’s length, with a tiny little sword that is more likely to graze an elbow than take someone’s eye out. It lends itself to both of their styles well, the necessity to be constantly light on the feet, in and out of contact.

JJ’s still trying to do the same, keeping it light. Yuri’s a bit bored. Now he’s got the weight of the sword, and a quick read on how JJ’s handling his, he’s done messing around.

“Then you are about to be incredibly unlucky.” Yuri taunts. JJ does the stupid thing where he flips his sword in his hand, and then wriggles his fingers as he resettles his grip.

It’s almost like he’s enjoying this anyway.

Yuri will never understand that man.

Well, the time for teasing is over. When they re-engage, it’s with the kind of intensity that the king was probably expecting the first time. Yuri is coming straight at him, every parry turned into a thrust, to the point where JJ can do nothing but defend, turning his grip again and again to throw him off before he can hit him in the head. Yuri’s not even thinking, swinging simply as instinct guides him; his movements are fluid with practice.

“Aha!” JJ yells over the clash of their swords and the crowd’s cheering. “That’s more like it!” Yuri ignores him, too busy focusing. They trade power back and forth, the sharpened edges slipping against each other as they block, parry, block. Yuri is breathing deeply.

There’s no space for anything aesthetic about this. JJ specialises in fancy footwork, but Yuri is not beyond grappling. This is what real fighting is to him, and it’s the difference between them. JJ fights for fun – Yuri fights to win. Or, if the situation calls for it, to kill.

The thought makes him falter. The image if this arena, Otabek’s body beneath him, still in death – it bites.

He steps back for just half a second. JJ thinks he’s found his chance. The fact that it could be a trap doesn’t even occur to him. He tries to step in, pushing Yuri’s defence back, but raising his arms leaves his body open. Grabbing the blade of his sword gives Yuri a direct forward force to hold him off.

God, he wasn’t expecting this. He curses himself for the moment of weakness, trying to bite into the flesh of his resolve to pull it back. It’s fine; he can use it.

The blade digs into the thick leather padding of his gauntlet as the sharp edges of the blades graze along each other, but it holds. JJ adjusts his balance to brace for a push from above, so Yuri lifts his leg and delivers him a swift kick to the groin instead. Stumbling, JJ falls back, breathing heavily.

“That one might upset your fiancé,” Yuri goads. The fact that the armour will have deflected most of the blow is irrelevant.

JJ hefts his sword, his legs spread wide and defensive.

“Is that what you’re so pissed about?” He doesn’t sound offended, just interested. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Really, if he thinks that’s what the problem is, he’s even worse at taking a hint than Yuri had given him credit for. He doesn’t want _anybody’s_ affections, marriage or no.

“If you really hadn’t noticed, bone-head,” he advances, ready to swing, “I’ve been pissed at you for much longer than that.”

And they’re off again.

This is the issue with first blood fights, he thinks. If they were sparring, Yuri landing two hits would have won him this duel already.

He steps it up again, pushing his limits. Intensity is his speciality. He knows that he can drive his opponent quite literally into the ground. He’d usually have started like that, but the fact that he didn’t is what’s given him the lead so far. They’re only perhaps two minutes in, but JJ’s already tired, and Yuri’s got an obvious advantage.

Yuri likes being on the offense. Yes, if he starts by deflecting he can turn it round, but his easiest pattern is getting past someone’s first defence to get them in the second swing. He’s already been fighting longer than he wanted to be – extended duels with long swords are unusual, the duellers tiring faster and the moves designed to cause more damage. Long swords are used in battle more often than short swords, after all.

He drives in again. JJ’s fought him like this before, but he’s been wrong-footed, and half his attention is on trying to guess what he’s going to be facing next, as well as just on reaction to it.

Playing up to that, Yuri goes for his head. JJ defends accordingly, and two thrusts later, Yuri sneaks a slice sideways, and gets a decent cut on his unprotected arm.

Spending a couple of minutes playing with him paid off – usually it would take him several goes to land a hit, but that was over in seconds. They break.

“Then what are you pissed at me for?” JJ asks. For some reason, he sounds genuinely confused.

Yuri actually has to stop himself from putting his head in his hands – he’s holding a _sword_.

“I’ve told you multiple times. It’s not my fault that you weren’t listening.”

JJ is not happy – he had fought with Yuri just months ago, and it was nothing like this.

Yuri fights dirty, attacking any openings that are given to him, and that’s always made him a difficult opponent. His duel with Katsuki had started with his short sword and Katsuki’s weird curved thing, graduated to daggers, and finished as wrestling.

That one had been incredible. Katsuki fought like he did, almost without thinking, replying to the instinct that years of practice had given him. The difference in his techniques had been a challenge too, and kept Yuri on his toes right until the end. It had been the ultimate test of his strength. JJ can offer nothing in comparison. Even the heat of the fight isn’t affecting Yuri in the same way. The excitement isn’t there, the edge of desperation that he needs to push him to his best.

Yuri is known for his willingness to do anything, his quick-witted responses to attacks as well as his almost perfect technique, but his tactics always worked on the same platform. JJ had been expecting fierce strength and technical prowess– he got psychoanalysed instead.

The thing is, Lilia’s been trying to persuade him to do this for years. The reason he never bothered was because he could never get it to work, and he’d never seen it work for anyone else. He’d gone through four or five tutors, and none of them had ever persuaded him to even try it. Intensity had served him well, although left him open to the occasional attack, but when they were training with dulled swords that had never bothered him.

Otabek, however, had proved that it worked. Not only that, it worked well. It was effective. Yuri hadn’t intentionally adapted, but he recognised the pattern of this fight. This had been the position JJ was in yesterday, at the end of Otabek’s sword.

He’s got so much more energy than he’d usually have at this point, too. Unless JJ really pulls it back, he’s got one more hit to land, and they’re done.

For some reason, it’s not as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be. It almost feels like he’s punishing him for something that he doesn’t even know he did.

He paces beside Lilia, waiting for JJ’s mage to finish patching him up. His new squire looks to be hovering. Maybe he’s inexperienced.

“I hope you treat your new squire better than your last one,” Yuri yells, wondering if it will goad him. He is genuinely still offended on Isabella’s part anyway, love or no. She could have fallen for someone a little more deserving, after all. Lilia makes a noise beside him, evidently disproving of his behaviour.

“Yuri, you’re not fifteen.” She scolds, but JJ seems unbothered.

“At least I have a squire!” he yells back.

Yuri drops his sword.

Lilia tries to grab him, but it’s too late. He marches straight across the arena. Somebody’s yelling something, but he’s not listening. There’s a dagger at his belt. Without thinking, he draws it, and oh hell this goes against every regulation of duels but he doesn’t give a shit.

This was never going to be just a fight.

JJ’s not even looking his way, but he doesn’t need to be. The crowd has quietened down considerably, and the tone of the voices still yelling isn’t excited anymore.

He turns around just in time for Yuri to poke the dagger right at his neck.

“Whoah!” He jumps, dropping his sword.

Yuri might just be trembling.

“You know perfectly well why I don’t have a squire. And do you know what? The only reason I am currently due to be married off to a random stranger like an object rather than a fucking human being is entirely your fault. If you don’t take this seriously, I promise you, I can and I will ruin your reputation permanently. We both know that I am not bothered by politics like my father is.”

It’s not like he’s threatening to start a war. He doesn’t have that power.

JJ is silent.

... does he?

He lowers the dagger.

“Do you get it now?” He hisses. “Why I want to hit you every time you try and touch me? Why I was so determined for you to fail in the tournament? Why I agreed to duelling so easily?”

“Yuri... I don’t know what I did, but I...” he bows his head, “I’m sorry.”

Yuri stares at him.

“You...what?”

“I’m sorry.” JJ repeats. “I have been so focused on becoming the best I can be, I sometimes lose sight of what is going on around me.”

Yuri lowers the dagger.

“Who are you and what have you done with JJ?” He demands. There’s almost no venom in it; he’s just too shocked to manage it.

The king scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“Look, if you know about Isabella, you know I’ve done some stupid things lately. Turns out I have still have things to learn before I make a good king.” Yuri blinks at him, completely dumbfounded. His arms hang limp at his sides, the dagger forgotten. “But don’t worry!” JJ’s suddenly full of life again, his grin as toothy and obnoxious as ever. “I already know I’m an amazing knight, so if it takes more than that to be amazing king as well, I’ll grasp it in no time!”

Yuri rolls his eyes.

Honestly, of all the people to both apologise and admit to their mistakes, Yuri always thought that JJ would be the last. He’s still angry, and rightfully so, but not really at him.

Perhaps if JJ had had an awakening moment like this all those months ago, they wouldn’t be stood here today. Or if not him, then perhaps somebody else would have set Yuri’s temper off.

“Whatever.” Yuri says, but it feels wrong, somehow. Like spitting in the face of somebody who’s just surrendered. He knows he has his own faults, and admitting to his mistakes is something he almost never does. Seeing JJ do it so easily is – well, he can’t disrespect him now.

He holds out his hand, begrudgingly.

“Good luck then, I guess.”

JJ smiles. For a second, Yuri thinks he’s going to be left standing, like an idiot, but then JJ grabs his hand and shakes it enthusiastically.

“Yuri! I do hope this doesn’t mean you’ll go easy on me.”

“Not a chance,” Yuri sneers, falling easily back behind his shield of anger. JJ just laughs as he walks away.

“We’ll invite you to the wedding!” He yells after him.

Yuri doesn’t bother to respond, sheathing his unused dagger and taking his sword off Lilia, who picked it up off the ground for him.

He’s got a fight to win.

As he walks, he searches for a face in the crowd. Otabek had been right at the front of the barrier, before, but now Yuri can’t seem to find him.

Lilia nods to JJ’s squire, who nods back.

The horn blows.

Yuri’s intensity is back, and JJ seems to relax into the familiarity of it, parrying and defending his swift thrusts and strikes. Yuri drives him back still. He’s more comfortable like this, forcing his opponent to match his pace in a way that Sara couldn’t – she didn’t drive through enough, moved slightly too slowly to have her opponent constantly on their toes.

A sloppy defense on JJ’s part leaves him an opening, and he goes for it.

The whole thing is over in less than ten minutes.

The sound of the crowd fades back in. They’re cheering, obviously, but people are also yelling, and booing, and making various other sounds that he can’t quite identify. He pulls his helmet off and shakes out his hair.

It’s not what he was hoping for; JJ’s only got scrapes on his arms. But it’s done the trick. He won, and with barely any opposition. JJ didn’t land a single blow.

They don’t shake hands. JJ gives a slight bow, and in response, Yuri only inclines his head. He sheathes his sword and heads back over to Lilia.

As he walks, he finally catches sight of Otabek. Somebody’s found him a bench space to sit on. He inclines his head slightly, but the prince is watching JJ.

Lilia hands his back his hood, and gives him a leg up onto Karzhau.

The victory lap is short. People came to watch for the fight, and now it’s over, they’re wandering off again. Slowing to a trot, he heads back over towards Lilia. JJ’s already left the arena. He’s about to dismount when Sara rides in, her full plated armour glittering in the sun. Although her helmet is under her arm, her hair is tied up.

A hush falls over the arena. Watching her with narrowed eyes, Yuri turns Karzhau to face her. A cheer goes up as Sara removes her glove.

“Again?” Yuri hisses. The gauntlet lands on the ground.

Searching into the crowd, he finds Otabek. He’s looking, this time. The knight gives him a brief nod.

Grumbling, Yuri dismounts, and goes to pick up the glove. “She couldn’t have given me a break first.”

People start whistling as he picks it up off the floor. Resisting the instinct to throw it back at her, he hands it up as calmly as possible. The stallion gives him the kind of look that suggests that he’s been very bored up until this point.

“Horseback?” The fact that she didn’t dismount to make her challenge should be telling enough, but he wants to confirm. Even with Otabek’s permission, he’s wary about Karzhau. She nods.

“Horseback.”

Great. He’s going to have to fight on a horse that he’s literally never sat on before today. If he has to use his influence and fight at the same time, she’s going to be at a distinct disadvantage.

Well, he’s never lost in public yet, and he has no intention of starting now.

“Weapon?”

She gives this some thought, eyeing his broadsword, sheathed at his hip.

“Rapier. Did you bring one with you?”

He nods.

“I take it we’re doing this on hits, not blood?”

“Good luck trying to get me to bleed through this with a rapier. No, I’m no that unfair.” She’s smiling. Good God, he wonders if any of them are actually going to take this seriously. At least fighting with nothing at stake besides honour is a more acceptable pastime for a prince. Yakov can hardly complain about that – turning down a challenge would be a political snub, and it’s not his fault that they’re still treating him as a knight.

Well, this is going to be interesting.

He heads back to Lilia, who’s ready to help him back up.

“I’m beginning to think nobody who came to this tournament actually wanted to marry me at all,” he grumbles. Turning to one of the other royal squires, he hands them his long sword. “Go put that somewhere safe, and fetch my rapier.” When he looks back up, Lilia is giving him the look she used to give him when he forgot the name of his great-great-grandmother on his history test again. The one where she thinks he’s being unnecessarily stupid. “What?”

“Yura, your first listed championship was supposed to be the four continents, and you were the favourite.” Admittedly, this is unusual, but Yuri doesn’t understand how it relates. He says as much, stepping into Lilia’s hand so that she can throw him into the saddle.

“After you pulled out, a lot of knights who wanted to duel you felt they’d been thwarted,” she continues as he settles into the saddle again. They swap the hood for the helmet for the second time, and wait for the squire to return with his weapon. They’re watching Sara now, as she does her introductory lap. The stallion seems calm enough, and Yuri leaves it well alone. “If you hadn’t announced that you would be duelling in your tournament, you would have had at least ten challenges issued against you that week.”

He looks down at Lilia, surprised.

“But I was never knighted. I didn’t think you were supposed to challenge squires. Or princes who hadn’t been knighted.”

Patting Karzhau on her thick neck, Lilia shakes her head at him.

“You think that would have stopped JJ? And after the news spread that one challenge had been issued, it wouldn’t have been allowed to stand alone.”

There’s a couple of people lining up outside the arena now, knights that Yuri recognises from the lineup at the pledge. They’re all in armour, despite the fact that supposedly all that was planned today was another feast.

He’s not annoyed that they weren’t here to marry him – after all, it’s usually about political pledges anyway. Mostly, he’s amused. He didn’t want to be married, and he hadn’t bothered hiding it. Yet every single one of them had gone for that angle in the pledge. The only one who’d impressed him was Otabek, and that was because he had wanted to duel, and he’d been honest about it. If only they’d all been so open, they might have got the same amount of attention and respect from him.

“Seeing as I’m going to be in Rusiki a little longer, ” he smiles, slow and slight. Lilia’s probably the only one who sees it. “I think you’ve got time to teach me to arch on horseback.”

She sticks her nose in the air, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Only if you beat your challengers.”

“Oh, I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Act 1 is drawing to a close! I already have the prologue of Act 2 typed up and ready to go (as well as Act 1's epilogue) but nothing more than that. I'm afraid there will be a short break from my weekly schedule after I post the prologue (which is kind of a standalone, so I have no qualms about that), because I don't want to be posting anything that I haven't finished. It's all written, in seven or eight notebooks scattered around my room, but typing up/editing is going to take an awful lot of time and currently I'm coming to the end of my study abroad placement and not only am I focusing on finishing all that, I have some exciting travel plans coming up immediately afterwards! Whoo! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support so far, and I really hope you've enjoyed reading Act 1 as much as I've enjoyed writing it! It's been an absolute pleasure, and so much of that is down to your guys' support. This fandom is blessed with so much enthusiasm and sheer love for the characters, and it's impossible not to let that seep through into all of the stories and art that we create. I love being a part of it.


	9. Half of an Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I hadn't originally included this is in the draft, but I added it because I had lose ends that needed tying. If I ever find the time, I would LOVE to rewrite it, which I actually wanted to do this week, but there was no way I would have been able to post it in time, so. I didn't want to let all you guys down after you've been so kind, supportive and enthusiastic, so. Here it is anyway! 
> 
> Anyway, stop moping, jeez. THIS IS DONE! WHOO! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you stick around for Part 2!

“I don’t even want to go to the feast,” Yuri bemoans, face down on his bed.

He is exhausted. Every one of his limbs aches. Even his fingers are sore.

Lilia is more than versed in dealing with his shit anyway, and just ignores him. Or at least, he assumes that’s what the silence is.

Somebody draws back the curtains on the four-poster. Groaning, Yuri grabs a pillow and pulled it over his head.

“Go away. You’re not my mother.”

“No,” A thoughtful voice says. Yuri leaps up with a shout. “Astute observation.” The prince is looking down at him, one hand holding open the curtains. The other is on the wooden crutch under his arm. That at least explains how he got here, but not why.

“Otabek! What are you doing here?”

He’s shaved away the stubble of the hospital, and his hair has been washed. It’s still tied with Yuri’s favour, but at the base of his head, hiding the undercut. Somebody’s braided smaller parts of it so that gold threads also run through some of the strands. Yuri hadn’t noticed that his ears were pierced, but now he’s got gold studs in, he can’t believe he didn’t. Otabek’s wearing a crown, too – the first time Yuri’s seen it. Gold, of course, but hardly more than a plain band. It seems odd on him. Not because he carries it badly, but because he looks so different in it. The rest of them wear theirs nearly all the time, except when fighting. That said, it can’t be very practical to travel in. Maybe he just got out of the habit of wearing it.

Either way, he cleans up very, very well.

“Hello. I was told I needed to escort you down to the feast.” He looks down at Yuri, his brown eyes shining with something – amusement? Yuri is beginning to think that Otabek comes across as a lot more serious than he actually is.

“In that state, I think I’d be the one escorting you.” He nods at the crutch.

Otabek must have persuaded the hospital staff to let him out for the feast. No wonder he looks so smart. His tunic is the light, bright blue of his royal flag. The knee-length cloak he wears over it, however, is a deep, dark black. Nearly covering the blue of the robe underneath, it makes the gold gilt-work around the collar look even brighter. It looks like leather, too – expensive in the first place, and notoriously difficult to stitch. His sword belt matches, too. And he’s actually got the sword with him.

Yuri glares across the room at Lilia, who’s very determinedly still looking at the robes she’s spread out on his dresser. Who else could have invited him? Or let him in, for that matter? He tries to bore a hole in her back. As usual, she remains oblivious.

“Fine by me. But maybe you should put some clothes on first?”

Yuri pointedly ignores the smirk as he rolls out of bed. It’s not like he’s shy about his body. It’s a pretty damn nice one, as bodies go.

“Lilia, can you get my cloak? I want to see granddad first.” She turns and thrusts his ivy-green robes at him. He groans. “Oh no, not the full body ones, they take forever.”

“Well, if you’re going to be late anyway you might as well make an entrance.” Still grumbling under his breath, he steps into it. “Otabek, would you mind? You can come and tie this while I fetch his cloak.” Yuri does his best glare while Lilia’s still in eyesight. Of all the people he thought would be on his side...

“OW!” He flinches as she yanks on the corset ribbons. “I have organs in there you know.” The crutch thumps gently on the floor. He can’t believe he didn’t hear that the first time.

“I’ve never laced one of these before,” Otabek says conversationally, and going by the change in pressure, Lilia’s passed the ribbons over. Taking a deep breath before he’s chained in again, Yuri crosses his arms.

“Just keep doing that.” Lilia commands. The ribbons tighten again, but to nowhere near the level of physical pain that he’s used to. “It’s supposed to be tight.”

“It’s a fucking torture device, that’s what it is.”

“It matches the favour you gave me.” Otabek comments. Yuri was trying to pretend that it didn’t, but there’s not much denying it now. The ivy leaves embroidered around the hems and sleeves are unmistakeable. Damn Lilia.

“Pull it as tight as you can.” The door bangs behind her. Yuri sighs.

“Seriously, please don’t. Call me picky but if I’m going to be forced to dance then I’d like to be able to breathe.”

Otabek laughs. It’s so quiet Yuri almost misses it completely, and if it hadn’t been from the warm breath on his back he probably wouldn’t have realised.

“Let me know if it’s too tight, then.” He does a couple of lines, and Yuri doesn’t feel the need to breathe out to give himself space. It’s firm, but not in the restrictive way.

“That’s fine. Do they not have these things in your kingdom?”

“No. I’ve seen them before, whilst travelling, but I’ve never worn one.”

“Huh. I like the sound of it already.”

“Are they that bad? Chris seemed to quite like his.”

“He would.” The sun is setting outside the window. Yuri is watching it, but his mind is elsewhere. “Wait, when did you see Chris in a corset?”

“I’ve fought him at Championships before. He tended to wear them at the banquets afterwards.”

He’s reached the top of the ribbons, and ties them off carefully. Yuri breathes a sigh of relief. This is the most comfortable he’s been in one in a while.

“How long have you actually been on the continent for?” He asks, turning. Otabek hasn’t moved back, and Yuri has to take a quick step to avoid talking to his nose.

Picking his crown up off the dresser, Otabek places it carefully on Yuri’s head. It sits too far forward, but Yuri doesn’t dare reach up to adjust it. It’s not like it fits anymore anyway.

“That’s a long answer.”

“We do have all night.” _We have the rest of our lives_ , he doesn’t say, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop it from turning sour in his mouth. The prince is being so kind to him, and he hates it. Obviously that’s unreasonable, but honestly there was no way he was going to be happy with the outcome of this, whatever happened.

Yes, he’s glad it’s not JJ who’s lacing his corsets and putting crowns on his head, but if it were up to him he wouldn’t be wearing either of them, and then he wouldn’t need help getting dressed at all.

Otabek smiles, and Yuri realises he’s echoed him.

He keeps doing that. First it was the colours, now it’s their conversations. Dammit, he really needs to get a handle on his subconscious.

Somebody knock on the door, saving him from having to find a response.

“That’ll be Georgi.” Stepping away to find his shoes, he raises his voice to yell “Come in!”

His half-brother bursts in, Lilia following. Because she’s a queen, and she thinks of everything that Yuri doesn’t, she’s brought two.

“Yura!” In two steps he’s across the room, and Yuri is suffocating in his grip. He hits him with the shoe he hasn’t put on yet.

“Get off, you dunce, you’ll get magic on me!” Admonished, Georgi steps back, and brushes his shoulders off, just in case. He’s impossible.

Taking his cape from Lilia, Yuri throws it around his shoulders, and passes Otabek the other one. They’re not designed to be attractive, but it’s cold where they’re going, and they’re fur-lined.

“You’ll need it.” Otabek puts it on without question. He hasn’t moved from his spot by the dresser, but when Yuri beckons, he picks up his crutch and joins them in the centre of the room. To his brother, he says, “Can you do both of us at once?”

“I’ve been waiting for this day for so long!” Georgi says, one hand held dramatically to his heart. Magic suits him. It might be possible to practice without being an absolute drama queen, but Yuri has never met a mage in his life who didn’t have a flair for the dramatic.

“Whatever. I’ll need about an hour.”

“Half,” Lilia interjects.

“I haven’t seen him for a week!” His protest goes unheard. Sighing, he gives up. “Three quarters of an hour?”

She nods.

“Done!” Georgi grins, and waves his hands. “Oh, wait...” The aborted gesture has Yuri staring at him for half a second before he gets it.

“Oh, right yeah.” He takes his crown off and set it back down on the dresser, then holds his hand out for Otabek’s. “Sorry. I’ll explain when we get there.” Otabek hesitates for half a second, but no longer. The crown is heavy in Yuri’s hand, and Jesus, is this made of solid gold or something?

He puts it down before he can think too hard about that being a genuine possibility.

“You’ll need to hold on to each other.” Georgi says, and there’s no way that that smile is innocent. Yuri hates his family sometimes. Bunch of schemers, the lot of them. Nevertheless, he puts his hand on Otabek’s shoulder.

“You don’t get seasick, do you?” Georgi is moving his hands already, the air around them beginning to change texture. Otabek turns his head, his eyes just slightly too wide.

“Uh...”

“Shit.” Yuri turns back to Georgi.

It’s too late.

He grips Otabek’s shoulder, willing it to go quickly.

They land in heavy snow. Otabek keels over immediately.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I figured you’d have done that before, I didn’t...”

Otabek, looking distinctly green, picks himself off the floor, and shakes the snow off his crutch.

“I am so sorry.”

Yuri doesn’t know what else to say.

“Do we have to get back the same way?” Looking around, he draws the cloak closer around his shoulders. It’s Yuri’s spare, and ever so slightly too big for him.

“Sorry.” Yuri watches him wince, and rubs his elbow, at a loss for what else to say. “I was kind of concentrating on um... well, there’s something you should know.”

“First,” Says Otabek, taking a few careful steps to the left so that he’s standing on solid ground rather than in a snowdrift, “Where are we?”

It’s a valid question. Even though the snow hides the worst of it, this is hardly a place for royalty. There are no more than about fifty small huts in total, built low to the ground. None of them are bigger than a few feet, even the ones where he knows there are five, maybe six children. The sun having already set, everyone’s inside. Nobody saw them arrive.

A couple of horses and cows stand around under porches, heads bent to fit. Yuri knows that there are a few inside too, as close to the fireplace as the families can manage. Beyond that, the fields stretch all the way to the mountains with no further interruptions. The reindeer herders are out at this time of year, too – they must be far away by now.

“Northern Rusiki. Dad came here on a diplomatic visit to the mayor about 21 years ago.”

Otabek looks at him. Silently, he demands nothing, just waits for Yuri to elaborate. It occurs to him that he could say literally nothing more, and Otabek would probably just accept it. So far, he’s been remarkably trusting of Yuri’s whims.

“You know,” he swallows the embarrassment, “last night, when I told you Lilia wasn’t my mother? Well, my real mother wasn’t exactly royalty.”

Light dawns.

“Oh.”

It’s a supremely unhelpful reaction. Yuri knows he’s not good at reading people at the best of times, and he needs a little more than that to go on.

“Look, you were going to find out anyway. Now or never, right? If you want to back out, just go tell Yakov. It’s his problem anyway.” He joins Otabek in the road, and kicks at a stone. They’re stuck here until Georgi brings them back anyway, but he wasn’t going to leave him behind at the mercy of Lilia and Georgi. Nobody deserves that fate.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Yuri turns to look at him, standing in the snow. His eyebrows are folded inwards, giving him a look of extreme concentration. He’s not shivering, but he soon will be. So will Yuri, if they don’t get inside.

“Not you. This.” Gesturing at his robes, hidden as they are, isn’t as expressive as he’d hoped. He sighs. “I’ve spent half my life in armour. Corsets are a drastic and unwelcome change.” Obviously that’s not exactly what he means, but admitting his discontentment with the whole arranged marriage situation seems unnecessary. He’s done nothing but yell about it for over a year.

“I don’t know what else I can do.” He says, at last.

Yuri closes his eyes.

Of course. Otabek has done nothing but try and make this easier for him.

It’s really, really not fair. Yuri likes him. Really likes him. Beka’s just one of those people who is deceptively easy to be around. If their situation had been any different – if Yuri had been a more honourable person, or if Otabek had been a lesser one - this might have been easier.

“You can’t.”

He shivers.

It’s frustrating. Yuri appreciates everything that Otabek has offered him, he really does, and telling him that it’s not enough is harder than he’d thought it would be. It feels like letting him down, somehow, and really, he’s had more than enough of the guilt over the past few days. He _really_ doesn’t like the feeling of slight sickness whenever he opens his mouth.

He wishes it was a lie. He wishes he’d be able to see Otabek winning as a gift, a positive outcome, anything other than a condemnation.

It should be enough. It releases him, in all but name, from a contract that he never consented to being a part of. But it doesn’t give him his freedom. What will he do? Stay in Rusiki and continue to train as if he might one day become the knight he cannot be? Continue his lessons under Lilia, as if Yakov will one day accept him into the court he’s spent most of his life so far trying to avoid?

Life was a hell of a lot simpler before this.

At least he can stay. At least he has that.

Otabek doesn’t respond. The silence is an invitation of its own, but Yuri has too much to say if he’s expected to explain everything. The longer they wait out here, the less time he’ll have to talk to his granddad.

“Whatever. Are you coming or not?”

Otabek limps up besides him, and Yuri adjusts his gait so he doesn’t have to go too fast.

It’s only the second hut they reach anyway, and Nikolai is expecting them. Yuri’s only halfway through knocking when he opens the door.

“Yurochka!”

“Grandpa! I’m staying in Rusiki!”

Otabek is very gentlemanly, helping Nikolai up from where Yuri knocked him on the floor, and tries to help with the explanations as much as possible whilst they both do their best to stop snivelling. Nikolai is a much more dignified crier than Yuri, but that doesn’t make it any less awkward.

Thankfully, Nikolai’s made Pirozhki, and Otabek’s never had it before. That starts a conversation about food, and really, there’s nothing easier than that.

“You still haven’t had Katsudon?” Yuri yelps, horrified.

“You only told me what it was yesterday,” Otabek points out, but it’s too late. Yuri and Nikolai are both bemoaning the terrible food the castle hospital serves.

Yuri talks mostly, and Otabek and Nikolai listen mostly, and somehow that works just fine. Otabek even helps him demonstrate exactly how he got JJ in the face with his pommel.

“And he was so busy showing of he just left he face open, and I just went straight in, I swear, I haven’t caught anyone out with something that basic since I was twelve...”

“Yura, are you going to demonstrate or not?”

“Right, sorry. So he lifts his arms like this and I just go bam, and he... shit! Sorry, I didn’t mean to actually hit you!”

Nikolai laughs long and loud, and just for that they end up acting through the rest of the duels as well, including the moment when Otabek draw a cross on JJ’s face. He did bring his sword, but somehow he ends up using a wooden spoon instead, and Yuri’s sides hurt he’s laughing so hard. Lying on the dirty floor in his fancy robes, Otabek standing over him and trying to look threatening with a crutch in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other... Yuri didn’t think he’d ever have this kind of moment again.

Time passes so fast, he completely forgets that they’re supposed to be going back together. It’s only when Otabek vanishes in a cloud of magic that Yuri remembers the time.

“Oh.”

Nikolai knows the drill. He pulls him into a hug, hands him a bag of leftover Pirozhki (they make it at the castle but it’s not the same), bundles both cloaks into his arms, and Yuri feels Georgi’s magic hunting him down.

There’s not quite time to say goodbye, but that’s fine. It makes such a difference, knowing it’s not the last time.

He lands easily, smooth into a walk.

Georgi’s ready with a reproachful look, his hands busy trying to alleviate Otabek’s travelling symptoms.

“Really, Yuri, you didn’t think to ask before I’d already started?”

Dropping the cloaks in a heap on the floor, Yuri holds out the bag of Pirozhki. Angry Georgi is a lot less fun to deal with now he’s a fully graduated mage, and even his granddad’s cooking isn’t worth that. With a sniff, Georgi takes the bag, and seems placated.

“He’ll be fine in about two minutes, it’s a very short lived effect.” Yuri rolls his eyes.

“I know, dipshit. Go on, if I make you late as well Yakov will have my head.”

Lilia’s already gone. That means things have probably already started. Otabek spends his two minutes trying to get the worst of the dirt and dust off Yuri’s robe, to no avail. Instead, they opt for the golden hood to cover the worst of the damage. He needs to get it re-made into an actual cloak, seeing as that’s all he seems to be using it for now. He doesn’t really want the reminder, and has resolved to throw out the rest of them, but he wore this one the day he beat half of the best knights in the world. Throwing it away after that is unthinkable.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” Yuri reaches into one of his drawers and retrieves the doeskin glove. “Here. I can’t keep something like this.” When he looks up, Otabek is limping towards him.

“Why not?”

“Well, it doesn’t fit for a start,” Yuri teases, quite truthfully, “and even if it did, there’s only one.”

That’s not how it works. Obviously, they both know that’s not how it works.

It’s a white lie. The glove is far too nice for him to keep - _especially_ as he can’t actually use it, but also because he feels weird about having it. He can’t quite pin down the feeling, but honestly, Beka shouldn’t have given it to him anyway. Yuri’s been anything but nice to him – throwing his kindness in his face, multiple times, telling him that he’s not enough – of course he is. If anything, Yuri’s the one who doesn’t deserve his fav...

Oh.

Yeah, there. That’s it.

Fuck, Yuri hates that Otabek makes him so cripplingly aware of his own failings. But damn, if he doesn’t want to be better for it.

Except he’s doing it again. Giving back a favour is a snub, and quite a serious one at that, and he really, really should have thought about that before he let his subconscious lead.

“As long as you keep the horse, I won’t be offended.” Beka smiles, even as he accepts the glove back, and Yuri relaxes. That’s fine. He can’t argue that, it’s a useful gift, and actually a really nice one. Karzhau had reacted well to him earlier. Hell, he might actually be able to persuade Lilia to teach him to arch from horseback for real. He can go hunting by himself, too. He’ll have to introduce her to Ariya as soon as possible.

“Yeah, alright,” he says. Mind already reeling with all the possibilities. “I can accept that.” Otabek smiles, and thank God, because if Yuri had fucked up _again_ he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself.

“I think you’re supposed to say thank you,” Otabek muses, a hint of amusement in his voice. Yuri just rolls his eyes, utterly failing to supress the grin.

“Whatever.”

“Am I taking you to this banquet or not?”

“Unless you’ve magically recovered in the past two minutes, I think I’m the one taking you.”

“I can accept that.” Otabek echoes, and holy shit, Yuri’s going to kill him if he keeps up the teasing.

“Oh, fuck off.” He’s laughing, even as he says it, venom gone.

Which is how Yuri becomes the first person to be given a horse as a favour.

Karzhau seems pretty happy about it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like my writing has improved in the next section so I'm actually pretty excited to share it with you! Prologue due this time next week ^_^
> 
> If you're still interested in reading, this is a little extract from the prologue: 
> 
> “You can’t even walk properly yet,” Yuri points out.   
> “I can sit, though.” Otabek rebuts, ignoring Aisulu’s attempts to lean her head on his shoulder. She’s the most affectionate horse Yuri’s ever known, but it’s only with Otabek. Not for want of trying, but she’s never reacted in the same way to him. Mind you, it’s not always endearing. Not that Beka’s actively annoyed, but she is making a nuisance of herself.   
> “You’ve spent half your life in saddle. Why do I have to explain to you that riding is a big step up from sitting?” Yuri teases, dragging the brush across the patch of saddle sweat on Aisulu’s back. He’s covered in horse dust already, a little hair and sweat isn’t going to make any difference now.   
> “Because I’m a terrible patient and Georgi keeps trying to confine me to the hospital for my own safety?” Otabek suggests, quirking a smile.  
> “The more you escape, the more determined he is to keep you in there.” Yuri grumbles, good-humouredly. “At this rate, I’ll be going to the damn wedding on my own.”   
> He blinks at Yuri, caught off-guard.   
> “What?”   
> “Victor and Katsudon. What did you think I meant?”   
> Otabek just stares.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
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